



BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


By MR. PARRISH 

When Wilderness Was King. A Tale 
of the Illinois Country. Illustrated by 
the Kinneys. 

My Lady of the North. The Love 
Story of a Gray Jacket. Illustrated by 
E. M. Ashe. 

A Sword of the Old Frontier. A 
Romance of the Time of Pontiac’s 
Conspiracy. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. 

Each $1.50 

Historic Illinois. The Romance of 
the Earlier Days. With Map and 
Fifty Illustrations. 

Price $2.50 Net 

A. C. McClurg & Co., Chicago 




“I Read It in your Face,” He Insisted. “It Told 

OF Love.” [page 253] 



BOB HAMPTON OF 
PLACER 


BY 

RANDALL PARRISH 

Author of “When Wilderness Was King,” “My Lady of 
THE North,” “Historic Illinois,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR I. KELLER 




CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1906 


capM 5. 



Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 


All rights reserved 

Published, September 22, 1906 






5r!)e HaftfgilJc ^rteu 

R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


CONTENTS 


Part I 

FROM OUT THE CANYON 


Chapter Page 

r Hampton, of Placer . . . . . n 

II Old Gillis’s Girl 25 

III Between Life and Death .... 36 

IV On the Naked Plain ..... 49 

V A New Proposition . . . . / 59 

VI “ To Be OR Not to Be " .... 74 

VII “ I've Come Here to Live ” ... 85 

VHI A Last Revolt . . . . . . 94 

IX At the Occidental 102 


Part II 

WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID 


I The Arrival of Miss Spencer . . .115 

II Becoming Acquainted .... 126 

III Under Orders ...... 138 

IV Silent Murphy . . . . . . 149 

V In Honor of Miss Spencer, t . . . 161 

VI The Lieutenant MEEts Miss Spencer . 174 

VII An Unusual Girl ..... 184 

VIII The Reappearance of an Old Friend . 195 

IX The Verge of a Quarrel .... 205 

X A Slight Interruption .... 217 

XI The Door Opens, and Closes Again . . 223 


CONTENTS 


XII 

The Cohorts of Judge Lynch . 

232 

XIII 

“ She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not ” 

244 

XIV 

Plucked from the Burning 

256 

XV 

The Door Closes .... 

. 267 

XVI 

The Rescue of Miss Spencer 

273 

XVII 

The Parting Hour 

. 282 


Part III 

ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


I 

Mr. Hampton Resolves 


293 

II 

The Trail of Silent Murphy . 


301 

III 

The Haunting of a Crime. 


309 

IV 

The Verge of Confession . 


318 

V 

Alone with the Insane 


328 

VI 

On the Little Big Horn . 


• 335 

VII 

The Fight in the Valley . 


• 347 

VIII 

The Old Regiment . 


. 358 

IX 

The Last Stand 


367 

X 

The Curtain Falls . 


• 375 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

‘‘I Read It in your Face,” He Insisted. “It 

Told of Love’’ .... Frontispiece 

They Advanced Slowly, the Supporting Blank- 
ets Swaying Gently to the Measured Tread 54 

“ Mr. Slavin Appears to have Lost his Previous 

Sense of Humor,” He Remarked, Calmly . no 

Together They Bore Him, now Unconscious, 

Slowly down below the First Fire-line . 264 





PART I 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


f 


BOB HAMPTON of PLACER 


PART I 

FROM OUT THE CANYON 


CHAPTER I 
Hampton, of Placer 

I T WAS not an uncommon tragedy of the West. 
If slightest chronicle of it survive, it must be 
discovered among the musty and nearly forgotten 
records of the Eighteenth Regiment of Infantry, yet it 
is extremely probable that even there the details were 
never written down. Sufficient if, following certain 
names on that long regimental roll, there should be 
duly entered those cabalistic symbols signifying to the 
initiated, ‘‘Killed in action.’* After all, that tells the 
story. In those old-time Indian days of continuous 
foray and skirmish such brief returns, concise and 
unheroic, were commonplace enough. 

Yet the tale is worth telling now, when such days 
are past and gone. There were sixteen of them when, 
like so many hunted rabbits, they were first securely 
trapped among the frowning rocks, and forced relent- 
lessly backward from off the narrow trail until the pre- 
cipitous canyon walls finally halted their disorganized 
flight, and from sheer necessity compelled a rally in 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


hopeless battle. Sixteen, — ten infantrymen from old 
Fort Bethune, under command of Syd. Wyman, a 
gray-headed sergeant of thirty years’ continuous ser- 
vice in the regulars, two cow-punchers from the 
“XL” ranch, a stranger who had joined them unin- 
vited at the ford over the Bear Water, together with 
old Gillis the post-trader, and his silent chit of a girl. 

Sixteen — but that was three days before, and in the 
meanwhile not a few of those speeding Sioux bullets 
had found softer billet than the limestone rocks. Six 
of the soldiers, four already dead, two dying, ky out- 
stretched in ghastly silence where they fell. “Red” 
Watt, of the “XL,” would no more ride the range 
across the sun-kissed prairie, while the stern old ser- 
geant, still grim of jaw but growing dim of eye, bore 
his right arm in a rudely improvised sling made from 
a cartridge-belt, and crept about sorely racked with 
pain, dragging a shattered limb behind him. Then 
the taciturn Gillis gave sudden utterance to a sob- 
bing cry, and a burst of red spurted across his white 
beard as he reeled backward, knocking the girl pros- 
trate when he fell. Eight remained, one helpless, one 
a mere lass of fifteen. It was the morning of the 
third day. 

The beginning of the affair had burst upon them so 
suddenly that no two in that stricken company would 
have told the same tale. None among them had an- 
ticipated trouble; there were no rumors of Indian war 
along the border, while every recognized hostile within 
the territory had been duly reported as north of the 
Bear Water; not the vaguest complaint had drifted 
[■ 2 ] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


into military headquarters for a month or more. In all 
the fancied security of unquestioned peace these chance 
travellers had slowly toiled along the steep trail leading 
toward the foothills, beneath the hot rays of the after- 
noon sun, their thoughts afar, their steps lagging and 
careless. Gillis and the girl, as well as the two cattle- 
herders, were on horseback; the remainder soberly 
trudged forward on foot, with guns slung to their 
shoulders. Wyman was somewhat in advance, walk- 
ing beside the stranger, the latter a man of uncertain age, 
smoothly shaven, quietly dressed in garments bespeak- 
ing an Eastern tailor, a bit grizzled of hair along the 
temples, and possessing a pair of cool gray eyes. He 
had introduced himself by the name of Hampton, but 
had volunteered no further information, nor was it cus- 
tomary in that country to question impertinently. 
The others of the little party straggled along as best 
suited themselves, all semblance to the ordinary dis- 
cipline of the service having been abandoned. 

Hampton, through the medium of easy conversa- 
tion, early discovered in the sergeant an intelligent 
mind, possessing some knowledge of literature. They 
had been discussing books with rare enthusiasm, and 
the former had drawn from the concealment of an 
inner pocket a diminutive copy of ‘‘The Merchant of 
Venice,” from which he was reading aloud a disputed 
passage, when the faint trail they followed suddenly 
dipped into the yawning mouth of a black canyon. It 
v/as a narrow, gloomy, contracted gorge, a mere gash 
between those towering hills shadov/ing its depths on 
either hand. A swift mountain stream, noisy and clear 

[13] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


as crystal, dashed from rock to rock close beside the 
more northern wall, while the ill-defined pathway, 
strewn with bowlders and guarded by underbrush, 
clung to the opposite side, where low scrub trees 
partially obscured the view. 

All was silent as death when they entered. Not 
so much as the flap of a wing or the stir of a leaf 
roused suspicion, yet they had barely advanced a short 
hundred paces when those apparently bare rocks in 
front flamed red, the narrow defile echoed to wild 
screeches and became instantly crowded with weird, 
leaping figures. It was like a plunge from heaven 
into hell. Blaine and Endicott sank at the first fire; 
Watt, his face picturing startled surprise, reeled from 
his saddle, clutching at the air, his horse dashing madly 
forward and dragging him, head downward, among 
the sharp rocks; while Wyman^s stricken arm dripped 
blood. Indeed, under that sudden shock, he fell, and 
was barely rescued by the prompt action of the man 
beside him. Dropping the opened book, and firing 
madly to left and right with a revolver which appeared 
to spring into his hand as by magic, the latter coolly 
dragged the fainting soldier across the more exposed 
space, until the two found partial security among a 
mass of loosened rocks littering the base of the preci- 
pice. The others who survived that first scorching 
discharge also raced toward this same shelter, impelled 
thereto by the unerring instinct of border fighting, and 
flinging themselves flat behind protecting bowlders, 
began responding to the hot fire rained upon them. 

Scattered and hurried as these first volleys were, 

[u] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


they proved sufficient to check the howling demons 
in the open. It has never been Indian nature to face 
unprotected the aim of the white men, and those dark 
figures, which only a moment before thronged the 
narrow gorge, leaping crazily in the riot of apparent 
victory, suddenly melted from sight, slinking down 
into leafy coverts beside the stream or into holes among 
the rocks, like so many vanishing prairie-dogs. The 
fierce yelpings died faintly away in distant echoes, while 
the hideous roar of conflict diminished to the occa- 
sional sharp crackling of single rifles. Now and then 
a sinewy brown arm might incautiously project across 
the gleaming surface of a rock, or a mop of coarse 
black hair appear above the edge of a gully, either in- 
cident resulting in a quick interchange of fire. That 
was all; yet the experienced frontiersmen knew that 
eyes as keen as those of any wild animal of the jun- 
gle were watching murderously their slightest move- 
ment. 

Wyman, now reclining in agony against the base 
of the overhanging cliff, directed the movements of his 
little command calmly and with sober military judg- 
ment. Little by little, under protection of the rifles 
of the three civilians, the uninjured infantrymen crept 
cautiously about, rolling loosened bowlders forward 
into position, until they finally succeeded in thus erect- 
ing a rude barricade between them and the enemy. 
The wounded who could be reached were laboriously 
drawn back within this improvised shelter, and when the 
black shadows of the night finally shut down, all re- 
maining alive were once more clustered together, the 

[15] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


injured lying moaning and ghastly beneath the over- 
hanging shelf of rock, and the girl, who possessed all 
the patient stoicism of frontier training, resting in 
silence, her widely opened eyes on those far-off stars 
peeping above the brink of the chasm, her head 
pillowed on old Gillis’s knee. 

Few details of those long hours of waiting ever 
came forth from that black canyon of death. Many of 
the men sorely wounded, all wearied, powder-stained, 
faint with hunger, and parched with thirst, they simply 
fought out to the bitter ending their desperate struggle 
against despair. The towering, overhanging wall at 
their back assured protection from above, but upon the 
opposite cliff summit, and easily within rifle range, the 
cunning foe early discovered lodgment, and from that 
safe vantage-point poured down a merciless Are, caus- 
ing each man to crouch lower behind his protecting 
bowlder. No motion could be ventured without its 
checking bullet, yet hour after hour the besieged held 
their ground, and with ever-ready rifles left more than 
one reckless brave dead among the rocks. The 
longed-for night came dark and early at the bottom of 
that narrow cleft, while hardly so much as a faint star 
twinkled in the little slit of sky overhead. The cun- 
ning besiegers crept closer through the enshrouding 
gloom, and taunted their entrapped victims with 
savage cries and threats of coming torture, but no 
warrior among them proved sufficiently bold to rush 
in and slay. Why should they ? Easier, safer far, to 
rest secure behind their shelters, and wait in patience 
until the little band had fired its last shot. Now they 

[i6] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


skulked timorously, but then they might walk upright 
and glut their fiendish lust for blood. 

Twice during that long night volunteers sought 
vainly to pierce those lines of savage watchers. A 
long wailing cry of agony from out the thick dark- 
ness told the fate of their first messenger, while Casey, 
of the “XL,** crept slowly, painfully back, with 
an Indian bullet embedded deep in his shoulder. 
Just before the coming of dawn, Hampton, with- 
out uttering a word, calmly turned up the collar of his 
tightly buttoned coat, so as better to conceal the white 
collar he wore, gripped his revolver between his teeth, 
and crept like some wriggling snake among the black 
rocks and through the dense underbrush in search 
after water. By some miracle of divine mercy he w-as 
permitted to pass unscathed, and came crawling back, 
a dozen hastily filled canteens dangling across his 
shoulders. It was like nectar to those parched, fever- 
ish throats; but of food barely a mouthful apiece 
remained in the haversacks. 

The second day dragged onward, its hours bringing 
no change for the better, no relief, no slightest ray of 
hope. The hot sun scorched them pitilessly, and two 
of the wounded died delirious. From dawn to dark 
there came no slackening of the savage watchfulness 
which held the survivors helpless behind their coverts. 
The merest uplifting of a head, the slightest move- 
ment of a hand, was sufficient to demonstrate how 
sharp were those savage eyes. No white man in the 
short half-circle dared to waste a single shot now ; all 
realized that their stock of ammunition was becoming 

[17] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


fearfully scant, yet those scheming devils continually 
baited them to draw their fire. 

Another long black night followed, during which, 
for an hour or so in turn, the weary defenders slept, 
tossing uneasily, and disturbed by fearful dreams. 
Then gray and solemn, amid the lingering shadows of 
darkness, dawned the third dread day of unequal con- 
flict. All understood that it was destined to be their 
last on this earth unless help came. It seemed utterly 
hopeless to protract the struggle, yet they held on 
grimly, patiently, half-delirious from hunger and thirst, 
gazing into each other's haggard faces, almost without 
recognition, every man at his post. Then it was that 
old Gillis received his death-wound, and the solemn, 
fateful whisper ran from lip to lip along the scattered 
line that only five cartridges remained. 

For two days Wyman had scarcely stirred from 
where he lay bolstered against the rock. Sometimes 
he became delirious from fever, uttering incoherent 
phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he 
would partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly 
duty, and assume intelligent command. Now he 
twisted painfully about upon his side, and, with 
clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying 
next him. The face was hidden so that all he could 
clearly distinguish was the fact that this man was not 
clothed as a soldier. 

“Is that you, Hampton?” he questioned, his 
voice barely audible. 

The person thus addressed, who was lying flat 
upon his back, gazing silently upward at the rocky 

[t8] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


front of the cliff, turned cautiously over upon his 
elbow before venturing reply. 

“Yes; what is it, sergeant? It looks to be a 
beauty of a morning way up yonder.'’ 

There was a hearty, cheery ring to his clear voice 
which left the pain-racked old soldier envious. 

“My God ! ” he growled savagely. “ ’T is likely 
to be the last any of us will ever see. Wasn’t it you 
I heard whistling just now ? One might imagine this 
was to be a wedding, rather than a funeral.” 

“And why not, Wyman? Didn’t you know 
they employed music at both functions nowadays ? 
Besides, it is not every man who is permitted to assist 
at his own obsequies — the very uniqueness of such a 
situation rather appeals to my sense of humor. Pretty 
tune, that one I was whistling, don’t you think ? 
Picked it up on ‘The Pike’ in Cincinnati fifteen 
years ago. Sorry I don’t recall the words, or I ’d sing 
them for you.” 

The sergeant, his teeth clinched tightly to repress 
the pain racking him, stifled his resentment with an 
evident effort. “You may be less light-hearted when 
you learn that the last of our ammunition is already in 
the guns,” he remarked, stiffly. 

“I suspected as much.” And the speaker lifted 
himself on one elbow to peer down the line of recum- 
bent figures. “To be perfectly frank with you, 
sergeant, the stuff has held out considerably longer 
than I believed it would, judging from the way those 
‘dough boys ’ of yours kept popping at every shadow in 
front of them. It ’s a marvel to me, the mutton-heads 

[19] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


they take into the army. Oh, now, you need n*t 
scowl at me like that, Wyman ; I Ve worn the blue, 
and seen some service where a fellow needed to be a 
man to sport the uniform. Besides, I ’m not indiffer- 
ent, old chap, and just so long as there remained any 
work worth attending to in this skirmishing affair, I 
did it, did n’t I ? But I tell you, man, there is 
mighty little good trying to buck against Fate, and 
when Luck once finally lets go of a victim, he’s bound 
to drop straight to the bottom before he stops. 
That’s the sum and substance of all my philosophy, 
old fellow, consequently I never kick simply because 
things happen to go wrong. What ’s the use? They ’ll 
go wrong just the same. Then again, my life has 
never been so sweet as to cause any excessive grief 
over the prospect of losing it. Possibly I might pre- 
fer to pass out from this world in some other manner, 
but that ’s merely a matter of individual taste, and just 
now there does n’t seem to be very much choice left 
me. Consequently, upheld by my acquired philoso- 
phy, and encouraged by the rectitude of my past 
conduct, I ’m merely holding back one shot for my- 
self, as a sort of grand finale to this fandango, and 
another for that little girl out yonder.” 

These words were uttered slowly, the least touch 
of a lazy drawl apparent in the low voice, yet there 
was an earnest simplicity pervading the speech which 
somehow gave it impressiveness. The man meant 
exactly what he said, beyond the possibility of a 
doubt. The old soldier, accustomed to every form 
of border eccentricity, gazed at him with disapproval. 

[20] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


‘‘ Either you ’re the coolest devil I ’ve met during 
thirty years of soldiering,” he commented, doubtfully, 
‘‘or else the craziest. Who are you, anyhow? I 
half believe you might be Bob Hampton, of Placer.” 

The other smiled grimly. “You have the name 
tolerably correct, old fellow ; likewise that delightful 
spot so lately honored by my residence. In brief, 
you have succeeded in calling the turn perfectly, so far 
as your limited information extends. In strict confi- 
dence I propose now to impart to you what has 
hitherto remained a profound secret. Upon special 
request of a number of influential citizens of Placer, 
including the city marshal and other officials, expressed 
in mass-meeting, I have decided upon deserting that 
sagebrush metropolis to its just fate, and plan to 
add the influence of my presence to the future devel- 
opment of Glencaid. I learn that the climate there is 
more salubrious, more conducive to long living, the 
citizens of Placer being peculiarly excitable and care- 
less with their fire-arms.” 

The sergeant had been listening with open mouth. 
“ The hell you say ! ” he finally ejaculated. 

“The undefiled truth, every word of it. No 
wonder you are shocked. A fine state of affairs, is n’t 
it, when a plain-'spoken, pleasant-mannered gentleman, 
such as I surely am, — a university graduate, by all 
the gods, the nephew of a United States Senator, and 
acknowledged to be the greatest exponent of scientific 
poker in this territory, — should be obliged to hastily 
change his chosen place of abode because of the 
threat of an ignorant and depraved mob. Ever have 
[ 21 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


a rope dangled in front of your eyes, sergeant, and a 
gun-barrel biting into your cheek at the same time? 
Accept my word for it, the experience is trying on the 
nerves. Ran a perfectly square game too, and those 
ducks knew it ; but there ’s no true sporting spirit left 
in this territory any more. However, spilled milk is 
never worth sobbing over, and Fate always contrives 
to play the final hand in any game, and stocks the 
cards to win. Quite probably you are familiar with 
Bobbie Burns, sergeant, and will recall easily these 
words, ^The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang 
aft agley’? Well, instead of proceeding, as originally 
intended, to the delightful environs of Glencaid, for a 
sort of a Summer vacation, I have, on the impulse of 
the moment, decided upon crossing the Styx. Our 
somewhat impulsive red friends out yonder are kindly 
preparing to assist me in making a successful passage, 
and the citizens of Glencaid, when they learn the 
sorrowful news of my translation, ought to come 
nobly forward with some suitable memorial to my vir- 
tues. If, by any miracle of chance, you should pull 
through, Wyman, I would hold it a friendly act if you 
suggest the matter. A neat monument, for instance, 
might suitably voice their grief; it would cost them 
far less than I should in the flesh, and would prove 
highly gratifying to me, as well as those mourners left 
behind in Placer.” 

‘‘A breath of good honest prayer would serve 
better than all your fun,” groaned the sergeant, 
soberly. 

The gray eyes resting thoughtfully on the old 

[ 22 ] 


FROM OUT THE CANYON 


soldier’s haggard face became instantly grave and 
earnest. 

“ Sincerely I wish I might aid you with one,” the 
man admitted, ‘‘but I fear, old fellow, any prayer 
coming from my lips would never ascend very far. 
However, I might try the comfort of a hymn, and 
you will remember this one, which, no doubt, you 
have helped to sing back in God’s country.” 

There was a moment’s hushed pause, during 
which a rifle cracked sharply out in the ravine; then 
the reckless fellow, his head partially supported 
against the protecting bowlder, lifted up a full, rich 
barytone in rendition of that hymn of Christian 
faith — 

“Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 

Nearer to Thee ! 

E'en though it be a cross 
That raiseth me. 

Still all my song shall be. 

Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 

Nearer to Thee." 

Glazed and wearied eyes glanced cautiously toward 
the singer around the edges of protecting rocks ; 
fingers loosened their grasp upon the rifle barrels ; 
smoke-begrimed cheeks became moist; while lips, a 
moment before profaned by oaths, grew silent and 
trembling. Out in front a revengeful brave sent his 
bullet swirling just above the singer’s head, the sharp 
fragments of rock dislodged falling in a shower upon 
his upturned face ; but the fearless rascal sang serenely 
on to the end, without a quaver. 

“ Mistake it for a death song likely,” he remarked 

[^ 3 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


dryly, while the last clear, lingering note, reechoed by 
the cliff, died reluctantly away in softened cadence. 
“ Beautiful old song, sergeant, and 1 trust hearing it 
again has done you good. Sang it once in a church 
way back in New England. But what is the trouble? 
Did you call me for some special reason ?’' 

‘‘Yes,” came the almost gruff response; for 
Wyman, the fever stealing back upon him, felt half 
ashamed of his unshed tears. “That is, provided you 
retain sufficient sense to listen. Old Gillis was shot 
over an hour ago, yonder behind that big bowlder, and 
his girl sits there still holding his head in her lap. 
She’ll get hit also unless somebody pulls her out of 
there, and she’s doing no good to Gillis — he’s dead.” 

Hampton’s clear-cut, expressive face became 
graver, all trace of recklessness gone from it. He 
lifted his head cautiously, peering over his rock cover 
toward where he remembered earlier in the fight Gillis 
had sought refuge. 


ChI 


CHAPTER II 
Old Gillis’s Girl 

E xcepting for a vague knowledge that Gillis 
had had a girl with him, together with the 
half-formed determination that if worse came 
to worst she must never be permitted to fall alive into 
the hands of the lustful Sioux, Mr. Hampton had 
scarcely so much as noted her presence. Of late years 
he had not felt greatly interested in the sex, and his 
inclination, since uniting his shattered fortunes with 
this little company, had been to avoid coming into 
personal contact with this particular specimen. Prac- 
tically, therefore, he now observed her for the first 
time. Previously she had passed within range of his 
vision simply as the merest shadow; now she began 
to appeal faintly to him as a personality, uninteresting 
enough, of course, yet a living human being, whom 
it had oddly become his manifest duty to succor and 
protect. The never wholly eradicated instincts of one 
born and bred a gentleman, although heavily overlaid 
by the habits acquired in many a rough year passed 
along the border, brought vividly before him the 
requirements of the situation. Undoubtedly death 
was destined to be the early portion of them all ; 
nevertheless she deserved every opportunity for 
life that remained, and with the ending of hope — 
well, there are worse fates upon the frontier than the 

[^ 5 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


unexpected plunge of a bullet through a benumbed 
brain. 

Guided by the unerring instinct of an old Indian 
fighter, Gillis, during that first mad retreat, had dis- 
covered temporary shelter behind one of the largest 
bowlders. It was a trifle in advance of those later 
rolled into position by the soldiers, but was of a size 
and shape which should have afforded ample protec- 
tion for two, and doubtless would have done so had it 
not been for the firing from the cliff opposite. Even 
then it was a deflected bullet, glancing from off the 
polished surface of the rock, which found lodgment in 
the sturdy old fighter’s brain. The girl had caught 
him as he fell, had wasted all her treasured store of 
water in a vain effort to cleanse the blood from his 
features, and now sat there, pillowing his head upon 
her knee, although the old man was stone dead with 
the first touch of the ball. That had occurred fully 
an hour before, but she continued in the same posture, 
a grave, pathetic figure, her face sobered and careworn 
beyond her years, her eyes dry and staring, one brown 
hand grasping unconsciously the old man’s useless 
rifle. She would scarcely have been esteemed attract- 
ive even under much happier circumstances and 
assisted by dress, yet there was something in the 
independent poise of her head, the steady fixedness of 
her posture, which served to interest Hampton as he 
now watched her curiously. 

‘‘ Fighting blood,” he muttered admiringly to him- 
self. Might fail to develop into very much of a 
society belle, but likely to prove valuable out here.” 

[^ 6 ] 


OLD GILLIS’S GIRL 


She was rather a slender slip of a thing, a trifle 
too tall for her years, perhaps, yet with no lack of 
development apparent in the slim, rounded fig- 
ure. Her coarse home-made dress of dark calico 
fitted her sadly, while her rumpled hair, from 
which the broad-brimmed hat had fallen, possessed 
a reddish copper tinge where it was touched by 
the sun. Mr. Hampton’s survey did not in- 
crease his desire for more intimate acquaintance- 
ship, yet he recognized anew her undoubted claim 
upon him. 

“ Suppose I might just as well drop out that way 
as any other,” he reflected, thoughtfully. It’s all in 
the game.” 

Lying flat upon his stomach, both arms extended, 
he slowly forced himself beyond his bowlder into the 
open. There was no great distance to be traversed, 
and a considerable portion of the way was somewhat 
protected by low bushes. Hampton took few chances 
of those spying eyes above, never uplifting his head 
the smallest fraction of an inch, but reaching forward 
with blindly groping hands, caught hold upon any 
projecting root or stone which enabled him to drag 
his body an inch farther. Twice they fired directly 
down at him from the opposite summit, and once a 
fleck of sharp rock, chipped by a glancing bullet, 
embedded itself in his cheek, dyeing the whole side of 
his face crimson. But not once did he pause or 
glance aside; nor did the girl look up from the 
imploring face of her dead. As he crept silently in, 
sheltering himself next to the body of the dead man, 

[^7] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


she perceived his presence for the first time, and 
shrank back as if in dread. 

‘‘What are you doing? Why — why did you come 
here ? she questioned, a falter in her voice ; and he 
noticed that her eyes were dark and large, yielding a 
marked impress of beauty to her face. 

“ I was unwilling to leave you here alone,” he 
answered, quietly, “and hope to discover some means 
for getting you safely back beside the others.” 

“ But I did n’t want you,” and there was a look of 
positive dislike in her widely opened eyes. 

“ Did n’t want me ? ” He echoed these unexpected 
words in a tone of complete surprise. “ Surely you 
could not desire to be left here alone ? Why did n’t 
you want me ? ” 

“ Because 1 know who you are ! ” Her voice 
seemed to catch in her throat. “He told me. You’re 
the man who shot Jim Eberly.” 

Mr. Hampton was never of a pronounced emo- 
tional nature, nor was he a person easily disconcerted, 
yet he flushed at the sound of these impulsive words, 
and the confident smile deserted his lips. For a mo- 
ment they sat thus, the dead body lying between, 
and looked at each other. When the man finally 
broke the constrained silence a deeper intonation had 
crept into his voice. 

“ My girl,” he said gravely, and not without a 
suspicion of pleading, “ this is no place for me to attempt 
any defence of a shooting affray in a gambling-house, 
although I might plead with some justice that Eberly 
enjoyed the honor of shooting first. I was not aware 
[. 8 ] 


OLD GILLIS’S GIRL 


of your personal feeling in the matter, or I might have 
permitted some one else to come here in my stead. 
Now it is too late. I have never spoken to you be- 
fore, and do so at this time merely from a sincere 
desire to be of some assistance.” 

There was that in his manner of grave courtesy 
which served to steady the girl. Probably never 
before in all her rough frontier experience had she 
been addressed thus formally. Her closely com- 
pressed lips twitched nervously, but her questioning 
eyes remained unlowered. 

“You may stay,” she asserted, soberly. “Only 
don’t touch me.” 

No one could ever realize how much those words 
hurt him. He had been disciplined in far too severe 
a school ever to permit his face to index the feelings 
of his heart, yet the unconcealed shrinking of this un- 
couth child from slightest personal contact with him 
cut through his acquired reserve as perhaps nothing 
else could ever have done. Not until he had com- 
pletely conquered his first unwise impulse to retort 
angrily, did he venture again to speak. 

“ I hope to aid you in getting back beside the 
others, where you will be less exposed.” 

“Will you take him?” 

“He is dead,” Hampton said, soberly, “and I can 
do nothing to aid him. But there remains a chance 
for you to escape.” 

“Then I won’t go,” she declared, positively. 

Hampton’s gray eyes looked for a long moment 
fixedly into her darker ones, while the two took 

[29] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


mental stock of each other. He realized the utter 
futility of any further argument, while she felt 
instinctively the cool, dominating strength of the 
man. Neither was composed of that poor fibre which 
bends. 

‘‘ Very well, my young lady,” he said, easily, stretch- 
ing himself out more comfortably in the rock shadow. 
“Then I will remain here with you; it makes small 
odds.” 

Excepting for one hasty, puzzled glance, she did 
not deign to look again toward him, and the man 
rested motionless upon his back, staring up at the sky. 
Finally, curiosity overmastered the actor in him, and 
he turned partially upon one side, so as to bring her 
profile within his range of vision. The untamed, re- 
bellious nature of the girl had touched a responsive 
chord; unseeking any such result she had directly 
appealed to his better judgment, and enabled him to 
perceive her from an entirely fresh view-point. Her 
clearly expressed disdain, her sturdy independence 
both of word and action, coupled with her frankly 
voiced dislike, awoke within him an earnest desire 
to stand higher in her regard. Her dark, glow- 
ing eyes were lowered upon the white face of the 
dead man, yet Hampton noted how clear, in spite 
of sun-tan, were those tints of health upon the 
rounded cheek, and how soft and glossy shone her 
wealth of rumpled hair. Even the tinge of color, 
so distasteful in the full glare of the sun, appeared 
to have darkened under the shadow, its shade 
framing the downcast face into a pensive fairness. 

[30] 


OLD GILLIS’S GIRL 


Then he observed how dry and parched her lips 
were. 

Take a drink of this/' he insisted heartily, hold- 
ing out toward her as he spoke his partially filled 
canteen. 

She started at the unexpected sound of his voice, 
yet uplifted the welcome water to her mouth, while 
Hampton, observing it all closely, could but remark 
the delicate shapeliness of her hand. 

‘Hf that old fellow was her father," he reflected 
soberly, ‘H should like to have seen her mother." 

‘‘ Thank you," she said simply, handing back the 
canteen, but without lifting her eyes again to his face. 
“ I was so thirsty." Her low tone, endeavoring to be 
polite enough, contained no note of encouragement. 

‘‘Was Gillis your father?" the man questioned, 
determined to make her recognize his presence. 

“ I suppose so; I don't know." 

“You don't know? Am I to understand you are 
actually uncertain whether this man was your father 
or not?" 

“ That is about what I said, was n't it ? Not that it 
is any of your business, so far as I know, Mr. Bob 
Hampton, but I answered you all right. He brought 
me up, and I called him ‘dad' about as far back as I 
can remember, but I don't reckon as he ever told me 
he was my father. So you can understand just what 
you please." 

“His name was Gillis, was n't it?" 

The girl nodded wearily. 

“ Post-trader at Fort Bethune?" 

[3 0 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Again the rumpled head silently acquiesced. 

“What is your name?” 

“He always called me ‘kid/” she admitted un- 
willingly, “but I reckon if you have any further 
occasion for addressing me, you'd better say, ‘Miss 
Gillis.' ” 

Hampton laughed lightly, his reckless humor in- 
stantly restored by her perverse manner. 

“ Heaven preserve me ! ” he exclaimed good na- 
turedly, “ but you are certainly laying it on thick, young 
lady ! However, I believe we might become good 
friends if we ever have sufficient luck to get out from 
this hole alive. Darn if I don’t sort of cotton to you, 
little girl — you’ve got some sand.” 

For a brief space her truthful, angry eyes rested 
scornfully upon his face, her lips parted as though trem- 
bling with a sharp retort. Then she deliberately 
turned her back upon him without uttering a word. 

For what may have been the first and only occa- 
sion in Mr. Hampton’s audacious career, he realized 
his utter helplessness. This mere slip of a red- 
headed girl, this little nameless waif of the frontier, 
condemned him so completely, and without waste of 
words, as to leave him weaponless. Not that he greatly 
cared ; oh, no ! still, it was an entirely new experience ; 
the arrow went deeper than he would have willingly 
admitted. Men of middle age, gray hairs already 
commencing to shade their temples, are not apt to 
enjoy being openly despised by young women, not 
even by ordinary freckle-faced girls, clad in coarse 
short frocks. Yet he could think of no fitting retort 

[32] 


OLD GILLIS’S GIRL 


worth the speaking, and consequently he simply lay 
back, seeking to treat this disagreeable creature with 
that silent contempt which is the last resort of the 
vanquished. 

He was little inclined to admit, even to himself, 
that he had been fairly hit, yet the truth remained 
that this girl was beginning to interest him oddly. 
He admired her sturdy independence, her audacity of 
speech, her unqualified frankness. Mr. Hampton 
was a thoroughgoing sport, and no quality was quite 
so apt to appeal to him as dead gameness. He 
glanced surreptitiously aside at her once more, but 
there was no sign of relenting in the averted face. He 
rested lower against the rock, his face upturned toward 
the sky, and thought. He was becoming vaguely 
aware that something entirely new, and rather unwel- 
come, had crept into his life during that last fateful 
half-hour. It could not be analyzed, nor even ex- 
pressed definitely in words, but he comprehended this 
much — he would really enjoy rescuing this girl, and he 
should like to live long enough to discover into what 
sort of woman she would develop. 

It was no spirit of bravado that gave rise to his 
reckless speech of an hour previous. It was simply a 
spontaneous outpouring of his real nature, an unpre- 
meditated expression of that supreme carelessness with 
which he regarded the future, the small value he set on 
life. He truly felt as utterly indifferent toward fate 
as his words signified. Deeply conscious of a life 
long ago irretrievably wrecked, everything behind a 
chaos, everything before worthless, — for years he had 

[33] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


been actually seeking death; a hundred times he had 
gladly marked its apparent approach, a smile of wel- 
come upon his lips. Yet it had never quite succeeded 
in reaching him, and nothing had been gained beyond 
a reputation for cool, reckless daring, which he did 
not in the least covet. But now, miracle of all 
miracles, just as the end seemed actually attained, 
seemed beyond any possibility of being turned aside, 
he began to experience a desire to live — he wanted to 
save this girl. 

His keenly observant eyes, trained by the exigen- 
cies of his trade to take note of small things, and 
rendered eager by this newly awakened ambition, 
scanned the cliif towering above them. He perceived 
the extreme irregularity of its front, and numerous 
peculiarities of formation which had escaped him 
hitherto. Suddenly his puzzled face brightened to the 
birth of an idea. By heavens ! it might be done ! 
Surely it might be done ! Inch by inch he traced the 
obscure passage, seeking to impress each faint detail 
upon his memory — that narrow ledge within easy 
reach of an upstretched arm, the sharp outcropping of 
rock-edges here and there, the deep gash as though 
some giant axe had cleaved the stone, those sturdy 
cedars growing straight out over the chasm like the 
bowsprits of ships, while all along the way, irregular 
and ragged, varied rifts not entirely unlike the steps 
of a crazy staircase. 

The very conception of such an exploit caused his 
flesh to creep. But he was not of that class of men 
who fall back dazed before the face of danger. Again 

[34] 


OLD GILLIS^S GIRL 


and again, led by an impulse he was unable to resist, 
he studied that precipitous rock, every nerve tingling 
to the newborn hope. God helping them, even so 
desperate a deed might be accomplished, although it 
would test the foot and nerve of a Swiss mountaineer. 
He glanced again uneasily toward his companion, and 
saw the same motionless figure, the same sober face 
turned deliberately away. Hampton did not smile, 
but his square jaw set, and he clinched his hands. 
He had no fear that she might fail him, but for the 
first time in all his life he questioned his own courage. 


[35] 


CHAPTER III 
Between Life and Death 

T he remainder of that day, as well as much of 
the gloomy night following, composed a silent, 
lingering horror. The fierce pangs of hunger 
no longer gnawed, but a dull apathy now held the 
helpless defenders. One of the wounded died, a mere 
lad, sobbing pitifully for his mother; an infantry- 
man, peering forth from his covert, had been shot 
in the face, and his scream echoed among the rocks 
in multiplied accents of agony ; while Wyman lay 
tossing and moaning, mercifully unconscious. The 
others rested in their places, scarcely venturing to stir 
a limb, their roving, wolfish eyes the only visible 
evidence of remaining life, every hope vanished, 
yet each man clinging to his assigned post of duty 
in desperation. There was but little firing — the 
defenders nursing their slender stock, the sav- 
ages biding their time. When night shut down 
the latter became bolder, and taunted cruelly those 
destined to become so soon their hapless victims. 
Twice the maddened men fired recklessly at those 
dancing devils, and one pitched forward, emitting 
a howl of pain that caused his comrades to cower 
once again behind their covers. One and all these 
frontiersmen recognized the inevitable — before dawn 
the end must come. No useless words were 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


spoken ; the men merely clinched their teeth and 
waited. 

Hampton crept closer in beside the girl while the 
shadows deepened, and ventured to touch her hand. 
Perhaps the severe strain of their situation, the intense 
loneliness of that Indian-haunted twilight, had some- 
what softened her resentment, for she made no effort 
now to repulse him. 

“Kid,’' he said at last, “are you game for a try at 
getting out of this ? ” 

She appeared&to hesitate over her answer, and he 
could feel her tumultuous breathing. Some portion 
of her aversion had vanished. His face was certainly 
not an unpleasant one to look upon, and there were 
others of her sex who had discovered in it a covering 
for a multitude of sins. Hampton smiled slightly while 
he waited ; he possessed some knowledge of the nature 
feminine. 

“Come, Kid,” he ventured finally,' yet with new 
assurance vibrating in his low voice ; “ this is surely a 
poor time and place for any indulgence in tantrums, 
and you ’ve got more sense. I ’m going to try to 
climb up the face of that cliff yonder, — it’s the only 
possible way out from here, — and I propose to take 
you along with me.” 

She snatched her hand roughly away, yet remained 
facing him. “ Who gave you any right to decide 
what I should do ? ” 

The man clasped his fingers tightly about her 
slender arm, advancing his face until he could look 
squarely into hers. She read in the lines of that 

[37] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


determined countenance an inflexible resolve which 
overmastered her. 

‘‘The right given by Almighty God to protect 
any one of your sex in peril/' he replied. “ Before 
dawn those savage fiends will be upon us. We are 
utterly helpless. There remains only one possible 
path for escape, and I believe I have discovered it. 
Now, my girl, you either climb those rocks with me, 
or I shall kill you where you are. It is that, or the 
Sioux torture. I have two shots left in this gun, — 
one for you, the other for myself. The time has 
come for deciding which of these alternatives you 
prefer." 

The gleam of a star glittered along the steel of 
his revolver, and she realized that he meant what he 
threatened. 

“ If I select your bullet rather than the rocks, 
what then ? " 

“You will get it, but in that case you will die 
like a fool." 

“You have believed me to be one, all this after- 
noon." 

“ Possibly," he admitted ; “your words and actions 
certainly justified some such conclusion, but the 
opportunity has arrived for causing me to revise that 
suspicion." 

“ I don’t care to have you revise it, Mr. Bob 
Hampton. If I go, I shall hate you just the 
same." 

Hampton’s teeth clicked like those of an angry 
dog. “ Hate and be damned," he exclaimed roughly. 

[38] 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


“All I care about now is to drag you out of here 
alive/' 

His unaffected sincerity impressed her more than 
any amount of pleading. She was long accustomed 
to straight talk; it always meant business, and her 
untutored nature instantly responded with a throb of 
confidence. 

“ Well, if you put it that way," she said, “I 'll go." 

For one breathless moment neither stirred. Then 
a single wild yell rang sharply forth from the rocks 
in their front, and a rifle barked savagely, its red 
flame cleaving the darkness with tongue of fire. 
An instant and the impenetrable gloom again sur- 
rounded them. 

“ Come on, then," he whispered, his fingers grasp- 
ing her sleeve. 

She shook off the restraining touch of his hand as 
if it were contamination, and sank down upon her 
knees beside the inert body. He could barely per- 
ceive the dim outlines of her bowed figure, yet never 
moved, his breath perceptibly quickening, while he 
watched and waited. Without word or moan she 
bent yet lower, and pressed her lips upon the cold, 
white face. The man caught no more than the 
faintest echo of a murmured “ Good-bye, old dad ; I 
wish I could take you with me." Then she stood 
stiffly upright, facing him. “ I 'm ready now," she 
announced calmly. “You can go on ahead." 

They crept among low shrubs and around the 
bowlders, carefully guarding every slightest movement 
lest some rustle of disturbed foliage, or sound of 

[39] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


loosened stone, might draw the fire of those keen 
watchers. Nor dared they ignore the close proximity 
of their own little company, who, amid such darkness, 
might naturally suspect them for approaching savages. 
Every inch of their progress was attained through 
tedious groping, yet the distance to be traversed was 
short, and Hampton soon found himself pressing 
against the uprising precipice. Passing his fingers 
along the front, he finally found that narrow ledge 
which he had previously located with such patient 
care, and reaching back, drew the girl silently upon 
her feet beside him. Against that background of dark 
cliff they might venture to stand erect, the faint 
glimmer of reflected light barely sufficient to reveal 
to each the shadowy outline of the other. 

Don’t move an inch from this spot,” he whis- 
pered. ‘‘It wouldn’t be a square deal. Kid, to 
leave those poor fellows to their death without even 
telling them there ’s a chance to get out.” 

She attempted no reply, as he glided noiselessly 
away, but her face, could he have seen it, was not 
devoid of expression. This was an act of generosity 
and deliberate courage of the very kind most apt to 
appeal to her nature, and within her secret heart there 
was rapidly developing a respect for this man, who 
with such calm assurance won his own way. He was 
strong, forceful, brave, — Homeric virtues of real 
worth in that hard life which she knew best. All 
this swept across her mind in a flash of revelation 
while she stood alone, her eyes endeavoring vainly to 
peer into the gloom. Then, suddenly, that black 
[40] 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


curtain was rent by jagged spurts of red and yellow 
flame. Dazed for an instant, her heart throb- 
bing wildly to the sharp reports of the rifles, she 
shrank cowering back, her fascinated gaze fixed on 
those imp-like figures leaping forward from rock 
to rock. Almost with the flash and sound Hamp- 
ton sprang hastily back and gathered her in his 
arms. 

“Catch hold, Kid, anywhere; only go up, and 
quick ! ” 

As he thus lifted her she felt the irregularities of 
rock beneath her clutching fingers, and scrambled 
instinctively forward along the narrow shelf, and 
then, reaching higher, her groping hands clasped the 
roots of a projecting cedar. She retained no longer 
any memory for Hampton ; her brain was completely 
terrorized. Inch by inch, foot by foot, clinging to a 
fragment of rock here, grasping a slippery branch 
there, occasionally helped by encountering a deeper 
gash in the face of the precipice, her movements con- 
cealed by the scattered cedars, she toiled feverishly 
up, led by instinct, like any wild animal desperately 
driven by fear, and only partially conscious of the 
real dread of her terrible position. The first time she 
became aware that Hampton was closely following 
was when her feet slipped along a naked root, and she 
would have plunged headlong into unknown depths 
had she not come into sudden contact with his 
supporting shoulder. Faint and dizzy, and trembling 
like the leaf of an aspen, she crept forward onto a 
somewhat wider ledge of thin rock, and lay there 

[41] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


quivering painfully from head to foot. A moment of 
suspense, and he was outstretched beside her, resting 
at full length along the very outer edge, his hand 
closing tightly over her own. 

‘‘ Remain perfectly quiet,” he whispered, panting 
heavily. We can be no safer anywhere else.” 

She could distinguish the rapid pounding of his 
heart as well as her own, mingled with the sharp 
intake of their heavy breathing, but these sounds were 
soon overcome by that of the tumult below. Shots 
and yells, the dull crash of blows, the shouts of men 
engaged in a death grapple, the sharp crackling of 
innumerable rifles, the inarticulate moans of pain, the 
piercing scream of sudden torture, were borne upward 
to them from out the blackness. They did not 
venture to lift their heads from oflF the hard rock ; the 
girl sobbed silently, her slender form trembling; 
the fingers of the man closed more tightly about her 
hand. All at once the hideous uproar ceased with a 
final yelping of triumph, seemingly reechoed the 
entire length of the chasm, in the midst of which one 
single voice pleaded pitifully, — only to die away in a 
shriek. The two agonized fugitives lay listening, their 
ears strained to catch the slightest sound from below. 
The faint radiance of a single star glimmered along 
the bald front of the cliff, but Hampton, peering cau- 
tiously across the edge, could distinguish nothing. 
His ears could discern evidences of movement, and he 
heard guttural voices calling at a distance, but to the 
vision all was black. The distance those faint sounds 
appeared away made his head reel, and he shrank 
[ 4 ^] 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


cowering back against the girl’s body, closing his eyes 
and sinking his head upon his arm. 

These uncertain sounds ceased, the strained ears 
of the fugitives heard the crashing of bodies through 
the thick shrubbery, and then even this noise died 
away in the distance. Yet neither ventured to stir or 
speak. It may be that the girl slept fitfully, worn out 
by long vigil and intense strain ; but the man proved 
less fortunate, his eyes staring out continually into the 
black void, his thoughts upon other days long van- 
ished but now brought back in all their bitterness by 
the mere proximity of this helpless waif who had 
fallen into his care. His features were drawn and 
haggard when the first gray dawn found ghastly reflec- 
tion along the opposite rock summit, and with blurred 
eyes he watched the faint tinge of returning light steal 
downward into the canyon. At last it swept aside 
those lower clinging mists, as though some invisible 
hand had drawn back the night curtains, and he peered 
over the edge of his narrow resting-place, gazing 
directly down upon the scene of massacre. With 
a quick gasp of unspeakable horror he shrank so 
sharply back as to cause the suddenly awakened girl 
to start and glance into his face. 

What is it ? ” she questioned, with quick catch- 
ing of breath, reading that which she could not clearly 
interpret in his shocked expression. 

‘^Nothing of consequence,” and he faintly en- 
deavored to smile. I suppose I must have been 
dreaming also, and most unpleasantly. No; please do 
not look down; it would only cause your head to 

[43] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


reel, and our upward climb is not yet completed. 
Do you feel strong enough now to make another 
attempt to reach the top ? ” 

His quiet spirit of assured dominance seemed to 
command her obedience. With a slight shudder she 
glanced doubtfully up the seemingly inaccessible height. 

Can we ? ” she questioned helplessly. 

We can, simply because we must,” and his white 
teeth shut together firmly. ‘‘ There is no possibility 
of retracing our steps downward, but with the help of 
this daylight we surely ought to be able to discover 
some path leading up.” 

He rose cautiously to his feet, pressing her more 
closely against the face of the cliff, thus holding her 
in comparative safety while preventing her from glanc- 
ing back into the dizzy chasm. The most difficult 
portion of their journey was apparently just before 
them, consisting of a series of narrow ledges, so wide- 
ly separated and irregular as to require each to assist 
the other while passing from point to point. Beyond 
these a slender cleft, bordered by gnarled roots of low 
bushes, promised a somewhat easier and securer pas- 
sage toward the summit. Hampton’s face became 
deathly white as they began the perilous climb, but 
his hand remained steady, his foot sure, while the girl 
moved forward as if remaining unconscious of the 
presence of danger, apparently swayed by his dom- 
inant will to do whatsoever he bade her. More than 
once they tottered on the very brink, held to safety 
merely by desperate clutchings at rock or shrub, yet 
never once did the man loosen hfs guarding grasp of 

[44] 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


his companion. Pressed tightly against the smooth 
rock, feeling for every crevice, every slightest irregu- 
larity of surface, making use of creeping tendril or 
dead branch, daring death along every inch of the 
way, these two creepers at last attained the opening 
to the little gulley, and sank down, faint and trem- 
bling, their hands bleeding, their clothing sadly torn by 
the sharp ledges across which they had pulled their 
bodies by the sheer strength of extended arms. 
Hampton panted heavily from exertion, yet the old 
light of cool, resourceful daring had crept back into 
the gray eyes, while the stern lines about his lips 
assumed pleasanter curves. The girl glanced furtively 
at him, the long lashes shadowing the expression of 
her lowered eyes. In spite of deep prejudice she felt 
impelled to like this man ; he accomplished things, 
and he did n’t talk. 

It was nothing more serious than a hard and toil- 
some climb after that, a continuous - struggle testing 
every muscle, straining every sinew, causing both to 
sink down again and again, panting and exhausted, no 
longer stimulated by imminent peril. The narrow 
cleft they followed led somewhat away from the ex- 
posed front of the precipice, yet arose steep and jagged 
before them, a slender gash through the solid rock, up 
which they were often compelled to force their pas- 
sage ; again it became clogged with masses of debris, 
dead branches, and dislodged fragments of stone, 
across which they were obliged to struggle desperately, 
while once they completely halted before a sheer 
smoothness of rock wall that appeared impassable. 

[45] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


It was bridged finally by a cedar trunk, which Hamp- 
ton wrenched from out its rocky foothold, and the 
two crept cautiously forward, to emerge where the 
sunlight rested golden at the summit. They sank 
face downward in the short grass, barely conscious 
that they had finally won their desperate passage. 

Slowly Hampton succeeded in uplifting his tired 
body and his reeling head, until he could sit partially 
upright and gaze unsteadily about. The girl yet 
remained motionless at his feet, her thick hair, a mass 
of red gold in the sunshine, completely concealing her 
face, her slender figure quivering to sobs of utter 
exhaustion. Before them stretched the barren plain, 
brown, desolate, drear, offering in all its wide expanse 
no hopeful promise of rescue, no slightest suggestion 
even of water, excepting a fringe of irregular trees, 
barely discernible against the horizon. That lorn, 
deserted waste, shimmering beneath the sun-rays, the 
heat waves already becoming manifest above the rock- 
strewn surface, presented a most depressing spectacle. 
With hand partially shading his aching eyes from the 
blinding glare, the man studied its every exposed 
feature, his face hardening again into lines of stern 
determination. The girl stirred from her position, 
flinging back her heavy hair with one hand, and look- 
ing up into his face with eyes that read at once his 
disappointment. 

“ Have — have you any water left?” she asked at 
last, her lips parched and burning as if from fever. 

He shook the canteen dangling forgotten at his side. 

There may be a few drops,” he said, handing it 

[46] 


BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH 


to her, although scarcely removing his fixed gaze from 
oflF that dreary plain. We shall be obliged to 
make those trees yonder; there ought to be water 
there in plenty, and possibly we may strike a trail.” 

She staggered to her feet, gripping his shoulder, 
and swaying a little from weakness, then, holding 
aside her hair, gazed long in the direction he pointed. 

I fairly shake from hunger,” she exclaimed, 
almost angrily, ‘‘ and am terribly tired and sore, but I 
reckon I can make it if I Ve got to.” 

There was nothing more said between them. 
Like two automatons, they started off across the 
parched grass, the heat waves rising and falling as 
they stumbled forward. Neither realized until then 
how thoroughly that hard climb up the rocks, the 
strain of continued peril, and the long abstinence from 
food had sapped their strength, yet to remain where 
they were meant certain death ; all hope found its 
centre amid those distant beckoning trees. Mechani- 
cally the girl gathered back her straying tresses, and 
tied them with a rag torn from her frayed skirt. 
Hampton noted silently how heavy and sunken her 
eyes were ; he felt a dull pity, yet could not suffi- 
ciently arouse himself from the lethargy of exhaustion 
to speak. His body seemed a leaden weight, his 
brain a dull, inert mass ; nothing was left him but an 
unreasoning purpose, the iron will to press on across 
that desolate plain, which already reeled and writhed 
before his aching eyes. 

No one can explain later how such deeds are ever 
accomplished ; how the tortured soul controls physical 
[ 47 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


weakness, and compels strained sinews to perform the 
miracle of action when all ambition has died. Hamp- 
ton surely must have both seen and known, for he 
kept his direction, yet never afterwards did he regain 
any clear memory of it. Twice she fell heavily, and 
the last time she lay motionless, her face pressed against 
the short grass blades. He stood looking down upon 
her, his head reeling beneath the hot rays of the sun, 
barely conscious of what had occurred, yet never 
becoming totally dead to his duty. Painfully he 
stooped, lifted the limp, slender figure against his 
shoulder, and went straggling forward, as uncertain in 
steps as a blind man, all about him stretching the 
dull, dead desolation of the plain. Again and again 
he sank down, pillowing his eyes from the pitiless 
sun glare; only to stagger upright once more, ever 
bending lower and lower beneath his unconscious 
burden. 


[48] 


CHAPTER IV 
On the Naked Plain 

I T was two hundred and eighteen miles, as the crow 
flies, between old Fort Bethune and the rock ford 
crossing the Bear Water, every foot of that dreary, 
treeless distance Indian-haunted, the favorite skulk- 
ing-place and hunting-ground of the restless Sioux. 
Winter and summer this wide expanse had to be 
suspiciously patrolled by numerous military scouting 
parties, anxious to learn more regarding the uncertain 
whereabouts of wandering bands and the purposes 
of malecontents, or else drawn hither and thither by 
continually shifting rumors of hostile raids upon the 
camps of cattlemen. All this involved rough, diffi- 
cult service, with small meed of honor attached, while 
never had soldiers before found trickier foemen to 
contend against, or fighters more worthy of their steel. 

One such company, composed of a dozen mounted 
infantrymen, accompanied by three Cree trailers, rode 
slowly and wearily across the brown exposed uplands 
down into the longer, greener grass of the wide valley 
bottom, until they emerged upon a barely perceptible 
trail which wound away in snake-like twistings, toward 
those high, barren hills whose blue masses were darkly 
silhouetted against the western sky. Upon every side 
of them extended the treeless wilderness, the desolate 
loneliness of bare, brown prairie, undulating just 

[49] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


enough to be baffling to the eyes, yet so dull, barren, 
grim, silent, and colorless as to drive men mad. The 
shimmering heat rose and fell in great pulsating waves, 
although no slightest breeze came to stir the stagnant 
air, while thick clouds of white dust, impregnated with 
poisonous alkali, rose from out the grass roots, stirred 
by the horses’ feet, to powder the passers-by from head 
to foot. The animals moved steadily forward, reluc- 
tant and weary, their heads drooping dejectedly, their 
distended nostils red and quivering, the oily perspira- 
tion streaking their dusted sides. The tired men, 
half blinded by the glare, lolled heavily in their deep 
cavalry saddles, with encrusted eyes staring moodily 
ahead. 

Riding alone, and slightly in advance of the main 
body, his mount a rangy, broad-chested roan, streaked 
with alkali dust, the drooping head telling plainly of 
wearied muscles, was the officer in command. He 
was a pleasant-faced, stalwart young fellow, with the 
trim figure of a trained athlete, possessing a square 
chin smoothly shaven, his intelligent blue eyes half 
concealed beneath his hat brim, which had been drawn 
low to shade them from the glare, one hand pressing 
upon his saddle holster as he leaned over to rest. 
No insignia of rank served to distinguish him from 
those equally dusty fellows plodding gloomily behind, 
but a broad stripe of yellow running down the seams 
of his trousers, together with his high boots, bespoke 
the cavalry service, while the front of his battered 
campaign hat bore the decorations of two crossed 
sabres, with a gilded ‘‘y” prominent between. His 

[50] 


ON THE NAKED PLAIN 


attire was completed by a coarse blue shirt, unbut- 
toned at the throat, about which had been loosely 
knotted a darker colored silk handkerchief, and across 
the back of the saddle was fastened a uniform jacket, 
the single shoulder-strap revealed presenting the 
plain yellow of a second lieutenant. 

Attaining to the summit of a slight knoll, whence 
a somewhat wider vista lay outspread, he partially 
turned his face toward the men straggling along in the 
rear, while his hand swept across the dreary scene. 

‘‘If that line of trees over yonder indicates the 
course of the Bear Water, Carson,” he questioned quiet- 
ly, “where are we expected to hit the trail leading 
down to the ford?” 

The sergeant, thus addressed, a little stocky fellow 
wearing a closely clipped gray moustache, spurred his 
exhausted horse into a brief trot, and drew up short 
by the officer’s side, his heavy eyes scanning the vague 
distance, even while his right hand was uplifted in 
perfunctory salute. 

“There’s no trail I know about along this bank, 
sir,” he replied respectfully, “ but the big cottonwood 
with the dead branch forking out at the top is the 
ford guide.” 

They rode down in moody silence into the next 
depression, and began wearily climbing the long hill 
opposite, apparently the last before coming directly 
down the banks of the stream. As his barely moving 
horse topped the uneven summit, the lieutenant sud- 
denly drew in his rein, and uttering an exclamation 
of surprise, bent forward, staring intently down in 

[sO 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


his immediate front. For a single instant he ap- 
peared to doubt the evidence of his own eyes ; then 
he swung hastily from out the saddle, all weariness 
forgotten. 

‘‘ My God ! ” he cried, sharply, his eyes suspi- 
ciously sweeping the bare slope. “There are two 
bodies lying here — white people!” 

They lay all doubled up in the coarse grass, exactly 
as they had fallen, the man resting face downward, 
the slender figure of the girl clasped vice-like in his 
arms, with her tightly closed eyes upturned toward 
the glaring sun. Their strange, strained, unnatural 
posture, the rigidity of their limbs, the ghastly pallor of 
the exposed young face accentuated by dark, dishev- 
elled hair, all alike seemed to indicate death. Never 
once questioning but that he was confronting the clos- 
ing scene of a grewsome tragedy, the thoroughly 
aroused lieutenant dropped upon his knees beside 
them, his eyes already moist with sympathy, his 
anxious fingers feeling for a possible heart-beat. A 
moment of hushed, breathless suspense followed, and 
then he began flinging terse, eager commands across 
his shoulder to where his men were clustered. 

“ Here 1 Carson, Perry, Ronk, lay hold quick, and 
break this fellow’s clasp,” he cried, briefly. “ The girl 
retains a spark of life yet, but the man’s arms fairly 
crush her.” 

With all the rigidity of actual death those clutching 
hands held their tenacious grip, but the aroused sol- 
diers wrenched the interlaced fingers apart with every 
tenderness possible in such emergency, shocked at 

Is^] 


ON THE NAKED PLAIN 


noting the expression of intense agony stamped upon 
the man’s face when thus exposed to view. The 
whole terrible story was engraven there — how he had 
toiled, agonized, suffered, before finally yielding to the 
inevitable and plunging forward in unconsciousness, 
written as legibly as though by a pen. Every pang of 
mental torture had left plainest imprint across that hag- 
gard countenance. He appeared old, pitiable, a wreck. 
Carson, who in his long service had witnessed much of 
death and suffering, bent tenderly above him, seeking 
for some faint evidence of lingering life. His fingers felt 
for no wound, for to his experienced eyes the sad tale was 
already sufficiently clear— hunger, exposure, the hor- 
rible heart-breaking strain of hopeless endeavor, had 
caused this ending, this unspeakable tragedy of the bar- 
ren waterless plain. He had witnessed it all before, and 
hoped now for little. The anxious lieutenant, bare- 
headed under the hot sun-glare, strode hastily across 
from beside the unconscious but breathing girl, and 
stood gazing doubtfully down upon them. 

“Any life, sergeant?” he demanded, his voice 
rendered husky by sympathy. 

“He doesn’t seem entirely gone, sir,” and Carson 
glanced up into the officer’s face, his own eyes filled 
with feeling. “I can distinguish just a wee bit of 
breathing, but it ’s so weak the pulse hardly stirs.” 

“What do you make of it?” 

“ Starving at the bottom, sir. The only thing I 
see now is to get them down to water and food.” 

The young officer glanced swiftly about him across 
that dreary picture of sun-burnt, desolate prairie 

[53] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


stretching in every direction, his eyes pausing slightly 
as they surveyed the tops of the distant cottonwoods. 

“Sling blankets between your horses,” he com- 
manded, decisively. “ Move quickly, lads, and we 
may save one of these lives yet.” 

He led in the preparation himself, his cheeks 
flushed, his movements prompt, decisive. As if by 
some magic discipline the rude, effective litters were 
rapidly made ready, and the two seemingly lifeless 
bodies gently lifted from off the ground and deposited 
carefully within. Down the long, brown slope they 
advanced slowly, a soldier grasping the rein and walk- 
ing at each horse’s head, the supporting blankets, 
securely fastened about the saddle pommels, swaying 
gently to the measured tread of the trained animals. 
The lieutenant directed every movement, while Carson 
rode ahead, picking out the safest route through the 
short grass. Beneath the protecting shadows of the 
first group of cottonwoods, almost on the banks of 
the muddy Bear Water, the little party let down their 
senseless burdens, and began once more their seeming- 
ly hopeless efforts at resuscitation. A fire was hastily 
kindled from dried and broken branches, and broth 
was made, which was forced through teeth that had to 
be pried open. Water was used unsparingly, the 
soldiers working with feverish eagerness, inspired by 
the constant admonitions of their officer, as well 
as their own curiosity to learn the facts hidden 
behind this tragedy. 

It was the dark eyes of the girl which opened first, 
instantly closing again as the glaring light swept into 
[ 54 ] 



They Advanced Slowly, the Supporting Blankets Swaying 
Gently to the Measured Tread. 






ON THE NAKED PLAIN 


them. Then slowly, and with wonderment, she gazed 
up into those strange, rough faces surrounding her, 
pausing in her first survey to rest her glance on the 
sympathetic countenance of the young lieutenant, who 
held her half reclining upon his arm. 

‘‘ Here,'* he exclaimed, kindly, interpreting her 
glance as one of fear, “ you are all right and per- 
fectly safe now, with friends to care for you. Peters, 
bring another cup of that broth. Now, miss, just take 
a sup or two of this, and your strength will come 
back in a jiffy. What was the trouble? Starving?" 

She did exactly as he bade her, every movement 
mechanical, her eyes fastened upon his face. 

— I reckon that was partly it," she responded 
at last, her voice faint and husky. Then her glance 
wandered away, and finally rested upon another little 
kneeling group a few yards farther down stream. A 
look of fresh intelligence swept into her face. 

“Is that him?" she questioned, tremblingly. “Is 
— is he dead? " 

“He was n't when we first got here, but mighty 
near gone, I 'm afraid. I 've been working over you 
ever since." 

She shook herself free and sat weakly up, her lips 
tight compressed, her eyes apparently blind to all 
save that motionless body she could barely distinguish. 
“ Let me tell you, that fellow 's a man, just the same ; 
the gamest, nerviest man I ever saw. I reckon he 
got hit, too, though he never said nothing about it. 
That's his style." 

The deeply interested lieutenant removed his 

[ss] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


watchful eyes from off his charge just long enough 
to glance inquiringly across his shoulder. “ Has the 
man any signs of a wound, sergeant?” he asked, loudly. 

‘‘A mighty ugly slug in the shoulder, sir; has 
bled scandalous, but I guess it’s the very luck that’s 
goin’ to save him ; seems now to be cornin’ out all 
right.” 

The officer’s brows knitted savagely. “ It begins 
to look as if this might be some of our business. 
What happened ? Indians ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ How far away ?” 

“ I don’t know. They caught us in a canyon 
somewhere out yonder, maybe three or four days ago; 
there was a lot killed, some of them soldiers. My 
dad was shot, and then that night he — he got me out 
up the rocks, and he — he was carrying me in his arms 
when I — I fainted. I saw there was blood on his 
shirt, and it was dripping down on the grass as he 
walked. That’s about all I know.” 

“ Who is the man ? What ’s his name ? ” 

The girl looked squarely into the lieutenant’s eyes, 
and, for some reason which she could never clearly 
explain even to herself, lied calmly. “ I don’t know ; 
I never asked.” 

Sergeant Carson rose stiffly from his knees beside 
the extended figure and strode heavily across toward 
where they were sitting, lifting his hand in soldierly 
salute, his heels clicking as he brought them sharply 
together in military precision. 

“ The fellow is getting his eyes open, sir,” he 

[S6] 


ON THE NAKED PLAIN 


reported, “ and is breathing more regular. Purty weak 
yit, but he’ll come round in time.” He stared curi- 
ously down at the girl now sitting up unsupported, 
while a sudden look of surprised recognition swept 
across his face. 

“Great guns!” he exclaimed, eagerly, “but I know 
you. You’re old man Gillis’s gal from Bethune, ain’t 
ye ?” 

The quickly uplifted dark eyes seemed to lighten 
the ghastly pallor of her face, and her lips trembled. 

“Yes,” she acknowledged simply, “but he’s 
dead.” 

The lieutenant laid his ungloved hand softly on 
her shoulder, his blue eyes moist with aroused 
feeling. 

“Never mind, little girl,” he said, with boyish 
sympathy. “I knew Gillis, and, now the sergeant has 
spoken, I remember you quite well. Thought all the 
time your face was familiar, but could n’t quite decide 
where I had seen you before. So poor old Gillis has 
gone, and you are left all alone in the world! Well, 
he was an old soldier, could not have hoped to live 
much longer anyway, and would rather go fighting 
at the end. We’ll take you back with us to 
Bethune, and the ladies of the garrison will look 
after you.” 

The recumbent figure lying a few yards away half 
lifted itself upon one elbow, and Hampton’s face, 
white and haggard, stared uncertainly across the open 
space. For an instant his gaze dwelt upon the crossed 
sabres shielding the gilded “7” on the front of the 
[ 57 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


lieutenant’s scouting hat, then settled upon the face of 
the girl. With one hand pressed against the grass he 
pushed himself slowly up until he sat fronting them, 
his teeth clinched tight, his gray eyes gleaming fever- 
ishly in their sunken sockets. 

“I’ll be damned if you will!” he said, hoarsely. 
“She ’s my girl now.” 


[58] 


CHAPTER V 
A New Proposition 

T O one in the least inclined toward fastidiousness, 
the Miners' Home at Glencaid would scarcely 
appeal as a desirable place for long-continued 
residence. But such a one would have had small choice 
in the matter, as it chanced to be the only hotel there. 
The Miners' Home was unquestionably unique as 
regards architectural details, having been constructed by 
sections, in accordance with the rapid development of 
the camp, and enjoyed the further distinction — there 
being only two others equally stylish in town — of being 
built of sawn plank, although, greatly to the regret of 
its unfortunate occupants, lack of seasoning had re- 
sulted in wide cracks in both walls and stairway. 
These were numerous, and occasionally proved peril- 
ous pitfalls to unwary travellers through the ill-lighted 
hall, while strict privacy within the chambers was long 
ago a mere reminiscence. However, these deficiencies 
were to be discovered only after entering. Without, 
the Miners' Home put up a good front, — which along 
the border is considered the chief matter of impor- 
tance, — and was in reality the most pretentious struc- 
ture gracing the single cluttered street of Glencaid. 
Indeed, it was pointed at with much civic pride 
by those citizens never compelled to exist within 
its yawning walls, and, with its ornament of a wide 
[ 59 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


commodious porch, appeared even palatial in compari- 
son with the log stable upon its left flank, or the dingy 
tent whose worm-eaten canvas flapped dejectedly 
upon the right. Directly across the street, its front a 
perfect blaze of glass, stood invitingly the Occidental 
saloon; but the Widow Guffy, who operated the 
Miners’ Home with a strong hand, possessed an an- 
tipathy to strong liquor, which successfully kept all 
suspicion of intoxicating drink absent from those 
sacredly guarded precincts, except as her transient 
guests imported it internally. In the latter case she 
naturally remained quiescent, unless the offender be- 
came unduly boisterous. On such rare occasions 
Mrs. Guffy had always proved equal to the emergency, 
possessing Irish facility with either tongue or club. 

Mr. Hampton during the course of his somewhat 
erratic career had previously passed several eventful 
weeks in Glencaid. He was neither unknown nor 
unappreciated at the Miners’ Home, and having on 
previous occasions established his reputation as a 
spender, experienced little difficulty now in procur- 
ing promptly the very best accommodation which the 
house afforded. That this arrangement was accom- 
plished somewhat to the present discomfort of two 
vociferous Eastern tourists did not greatly interfere 
with his pleasurable interest in the situation. 

“Send those two fellows in here to argue it out,” 
he said, languidly, after listening disgustedly to their 
loud lamentations in the hallway, and addressing his 
remarks to Mrs. Guffy, who had glanced into the 
room to be again assured regarding his comfort, and to 
[6o] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


express her deep regret over the unseemly racket. 
“The girl has fallen asleep, and I 'm getting tired of 
hearing so much noise.” 

“ No, be hivings, an’ ye don’t do nuthin’ of thet 
sort. Bob,” returned the widow, good-naturedly, busy- 
ing herself with a dust-rag. “This is me own house, 
an’ Oi’ve tended ter the loikes of them sort er fellers 
afore. There’ll be no more bother this toime. Be- 
soides, it’s a paceful house Oi’m runnin’, an’ Oi know 
ye’r way of sittling them things. It’s too strenurous 
ye are, Misther Hampton. And what did ye do wid 
the young lady, Oi make bould to ask?” 

Hampton carelessly waved his hand toward the 
rear room, the door of which stood ajar, and blew a 
thick cloud of smoke into the air, his eyes continuing 
to gaze dreamily through the open window toward the 
distant hills. 

“Who’s running the game over at the Occiden- 
tal ? ” he asked, professionally. 

“Red Slavin, bad cess to him!” and her eyes re- 
garded her questioner with renewed anxiety. “But 
sure now. Bob, ye mustn’t think of playin’ yit awhoile. 
Yer narves are in no fit shape, an’ won’t be fer a wake 
yit.” 

He made no direct reply, and she hung about, 
flapping the dust-rag uneasily. 

“An’ what did ye mane ter be doin’ wid the young 
gyurl?” she questioned at last, in womanly curiosity. 

Hampton wheeled about on the hard chair, and 
regarded her quizzingly. “Mrs. GuflFy,” he said, 
slowly, ^‘you’ve been a mother to me, and it would 
[6 1] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


certainly be unkind not to give you a straight tip. 
Do?. Why, take care of her, of course. What else 
would you expect of one possessing my kindly dispo- 
sition and well-known motives of philanthropy? Can 
it be that I have resided with you, off and on, for ten 
years past without your ever realizing the fond yearn- 
ings of my heart? Mrs. GulFy, I shall make her the 
heiress to my millions ; I shall marry her off to some 
Eastern nabob, and thus attain to that high position 
in society I am so well fitted to adorn — sure, and what 
else were you expecting, Mrs. Guffy?” 

“A loikely story,” with a sniff of disbelief. “They 
tell me she ’s old Gillis’s daughter over to Bethune.” 

“They tell you, do they?” a sudden gleam of 
anger darkening his gray eyes. “ Who tell you ? ” 

“Sure, Bob, an’ thet ’s nuthin’ ter git mad about, 
so fur as I kin see. The story is in iverybody’s 
mouth. It wus thim sojers what brought ye in thet 
tould most ov it, but the lieutenant, — Brant of the 
Seventh Cavalry, no less, — who took dinner here afore 
he wint back after the dead bodies, give me her name.” 

“Brant of the Seventh ? ” He faced her fairly now, 
his face again haggard and gray, all the slight gleam 
of fun gone out of it. “Was that the lad’s name?” 

“Sure, and didn’t ye know him?” 

“No; I noticed the ‘7’ on his hat, of course, but 
never asked any questions, for his face was strange. I 
did n’t know. The name, when you just spoke it,struck 
me rather queer. I — I used to know a Brant in the 
Seventh, but he was much older; it was not this man.” 

She answered something, lingering for a moment 

[ 6 .] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


at the door, but he made no response, and she passed 
out silently, leaving him staring moodily through the 
open window, his eyes appearing glazed and sightless. 

Glencaid, like most mining towns of its class, was 
dull and dead enough during the hours of daylight. 
It was not until after darkness fell that it awoke from 
its somnolence, when the scattered miners came swarm- 
ing down from out the surrounding hills and turned 
into a noisy, restless playground the single narrow, 
irregular street. Then it suddenly became a mad com- 
mixture of Babel and hell. At this hour nothing living 
moved within range of the watcher's vision except a 
vagrant dog; the heat haze hung along the near-by 
slopes, while a little spiral of dust rose lazily from the 
deserted road. But Hampton had no eyes for this 
dreary prospect; with contracted brows he was viewing 
again that which he had confidently believed to have 
been buried long ago. Finally, he stepped quickly 
across the little room, and, standing quietly within 
the open doorway, looked long at the young girl upon 
the bed. She lay in sound, motionless sleep, one 
hand beneath her cheek, her heavy hair, scarcely re- 
vealing its auburn hue in the gloom of the interior, 
flowing in wild disorder across the crushed pillov/. 
He stepped to the single window and drew down 
the green shade, gazed at her again, a new look of 
tenderness softening his stern face, then went softly 
out and closed the door. 

An hour later he was still sitting on the hard chair 
by the window, a cigar between his teeth, thinking. 
The lowering sun was pouring a perfect flood of gold 

[63] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


across the rag carpet, but he remained utterly uncon- 
scious as to aught save the gloomy trend of his own 
awakened memories. Some one rapped upon the 
outer door. 

“Come in,** he exclaimed, carelessly, and barely 
glancing up. “Well, what is it this time, Mrs. Guffy?’* 

The landlady had never before seen this usually 
happy guest in his present mood, and she watched 
him curiously. 

“A man wants ter see ye,*’ she announced, shortly, 
her hand on the knob. 

“Oh, I’m in no shape for play to-night; go back 
and tell him so.” 

“ Sure, an’ it *s aisy ’nough ter see thet wid half an 
eye. But this un isn’t thet koind of a man, an* he’s 
so moighty perlite about it Oi jist cud n’t sind the 
loikes of him away. It *s ‘ Missus Guffy, me dear mad- 
am, wud ye be koind enough to convey me compli- 
mints to Misther Robert Hampton, and requist him to 
grant me a few minutes of his toime on an important 
matter?* Sure, an* what do ye think of thet?” 

“ Huh! one of those fellows who had these 
rooms?” and Hampton rose to his feet with animation. 

The landlady lowered her voice to an almost in- 
audible whisper. 

“It*s the Reverend Howard Wynkoop,” she an- 
nounced, impressively, dwelling upon the name. 
“The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, the Prasbytarian 
Missionary — would n’t thet cork ye ? ” 

It evidently did, for Mr. Hampton stared at her 
for fully a minute in an amazement too profound for 

[641 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


fit expression in words. Then he swallowed some- 
thing in his throat. 

“Show the gentleman up,’* he said, shortly, and 
sat down to wait. 

The Rev. Howard Wynkoop was neither giant nor 
dwarf, but the very fortunate possessor of a coun- 
tenance which at once awakened confidence in his 
character. He entered the room quietly, rather 
dreading this interview with one of Mr. Hampton’s 
well-known proclivities, yet in this case feeling abun- 
dantly fortified in the righteousness of his cause. His 
brown eyes met the inquisitive gray ones frankly, and 
Hampton waved him silently toward a vacant chair. 

“ Our lines of labor in this vineyard being so 
entirely opposite,” the latter said, coldly, but with 
intended politeness, “the honor of your unexpected 
call quite overwhelms me. I shall have to trouble 
you to speak somewhat softly in explanation of your 
present mission, so as not to disturb a young girl who 
chances to be sleeping in the room beyond.” 

Wynkoop cleared his throat uneasily, his naturally 
pale cheeks flushed. 

“ It was principally upon her account I ventured to 
call,” he explained in sudden confidence. “ Might I 
see her?” 

Hampton’s watchful eyes swept the other’s face 
suspiciously, and his hands clinched. 

“ Relative?” he asked gravely. 

The preacher shook his head. 

“ Friend of the family, perhaps?” 

“ No, Mr. Hampton. My purpose in coming here 

[65] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


is perfectly proper, yet the request was not advanced 
as a right, but merely as a special privilege.” 

A moment Hampton hesitated ; then he arose and 
quietly crossed the room, holding open the door. 
Without a word being spoken the minister followed, 
and stood beside him. For several minutes the eyes 
of both men rested upon the girl's sleeping form and 
upturned face. Then Wynkoop drew silently back, 
and Hampton closed the door noiselessly. 

“Well,” he said, inquiringly, “what does all this 
mean ? ” 

The minister hesitated as if doubtful how best to 
explain the nature of his rather embarrassing mission, 
his gaze upon the strong face of the man fronting him 
so sternly. 

“ Let us sit down again,” he said at last, “ and 
I will try to make my purpose sufficiently clear. I 
am not here to mince words, nor do I believe you to 
be the kind of a man who would respect me if I did. 
I may say something that will not sound pleasant, but 
in the cause of my Master I cannot hesitate. You are 
an older man than I, Mr. Hampton ; your experience 
in life has doubtless been much broader than mine, 
and it may even be that in point of education you 
are likewise my superior. Nevertheless, as the only 
minister of the Gospel residing in this community it is 
beyond question my plain duty to speak a few words 
to you in behalf of this young lady, and her probable 
future. I trust not to be offensive, yet cannot shirk 
the requirements of my sacred office.” 

The speaker paused, somewhat disconcerted 

[ 66 ] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


perhaps by the hardening of the lines in Hampton’s 
face. 

“ Go on/’ commanded Hampton, tersely, “ only 
let the preacher part slide, and say just what you have 
to say as man to man.” 

Wynkoop stiffened perceptibly in his chair, his 
face paling somewhat, but his eyes unwavering. 
Realizing the reckless nature before him, he was one 
whom opposition merely inspired. 

“I prefer to do so,” he continued, more calmly. 
“It will render my unpleasant task much easier, and 
yield us both a more direct road for travel. I have 
been laboring on this field for nearly three years. 
When I first came here you were pointed out to me 
as a most dangerous man, and ever since then I have 
constantly been regaled by the stories of your 
exploits. I have known you merely through such 
unfriendly reports, and came here strongly preju- 
diced against you as a representative of every evil I 
war against. We have never met before, because 
there seemed to be nothing in common between us ; 
because I had been led to suppose you to be an 
entirely different man from what I now believe you 
are.” 

Hampton stirred uneasily in his chair. 

“Shall I paint in exceedingly plain words the 
picture given me of you ? ” 

There was no response, but the speaker moistened 
his lips and proceeded firmly. “It was that of a 
professional gambler, utterly devoid of mercy toward 
his victims; a reckless fighter, who shot to kill upon 

[67] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


the least provocation ; a man without moral char- 
acter, and from whom any good action was impossi- 
ble. That was what was said about you. Is the tale 
true ? ” 

Hampton laughed unpleasantly, his eyes grown 
hard and ugly. 

‘‘ I presume it must be,” he admitted, with a quick 
side glance toward the closed door, “ for the girl out 
yonder thought about the same. A most excellent 
reputation to establish with only ten years of strict 
attendance to business.” 

Wynkoop’s grave face expressed his disapproval. 

“Well, in my present judgment that report was 
not altogether true,” he went on clearly and with 
greater confidence. “I did suppose you exactly that 
sort of a man when I first came into this room. I 
have not believed so, however, for a single moment 
since. Nevertheless, the naked truth is certainly bad 
enough, without any necessity for our resorting to 
romance. You may deceive others by an assumption 
of recklessness, but I feel convinced your true nature 
is not evil. It has been warped through some cause 
which is none of my business. Let us deal alone with 
facts. You are a gambler, a professional gambler, with 
all that that implies ; your life is, of necessity, passed 
among the most vicious and degrading elements of 
mining camps, and you do not hesitate even to take 
human life when in your judgment it seems necessary 
to preserve your own. Under this veneer of lawless- 
ness you may, indeed, possess a warm heart, Mr. 
Hampton; you may be a good fellow, but you are 
[ 68 ] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


certainly not a model character, even according to the 
liberal code of the border/’ 

‘‘ Extremely kind of you to enter my rooms 
uninvited, and furnish me with this list of moral 
deficiencies,” acknowledged the other with affected 
carelessness. ‘‘ But thus far you have failed to tell 
me anything strikingly new. Am I to understand 
you have some particular object in this exchange 
of amenities ? ” 

‘‘Most assuredly. It is to ask if such a person as 
you practically confess yourself to be — homeless, 
associating only with the most despicable and vicious 
characters, and leading so uncertain and disreputable a 
life — can be fit to assume charge of a girl, almost 
a woman, and mould her future ? ” 

For a long, breathless moment Hampton stared 
incredulously at his questioner, crushing his cigar 
between his teeth. Twice he started to speak, but 
literally choked back the bitter words burning 
his lips, while an uncontrollable admiration for the 
other’s boldness began to overcome his first fierce 
anger. 

“By God!” he exclaimed at last, rising to his feet 
and pointing toward the door. “ I have shot men for 
less. Go, before I forget your cloth. You little 
impudent fool! See here — I saved that girl from 
death, or worse ; I plucked her from the very mouth 
of hell ; I like her ; she ’s got sand ; so far as I know 
there is not a single soul for her to turn to for help in 
all this wide world. And you, you miserable, 
snivelling hypocrite, you little creeping Presbyterian 

[69] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


parson, you want me to shake her! What sort of a 
wild beast do you suppose I am ? 

Wynkoop had taken one hasty step backward, 
impelled to it by the fierce anger blazing from those 
stern gray eyes. But now he paused, and, for the only 
time on record, discovered the conventional language 
of polite society inadequate to express his needs. 

‘‘ I think,’* he said, scarcely realizing his own 
words, “you are a damned fool.” 

Into Hampton’s eyes there leaped a light upon 
which other men had looked before they died, — the 
strange mad gleam one sometimes sees in fighting 
animals, or amid the fierce charges of war. His 
hand swept instinctively backward, closing upon the 
butt of a revolver beneath his coat, and for one second 
he who had dared such utterance looked on death. 
Then the hard lines about the man’s mouth softened, 
the fingers clutching the weapon relaxed, and Hamp- 
ton laid one opened hand upon the minister’s shrinking 
shoulder. 

“ Sit down,” he said, his voice unsteady from so 
sudden a reaction. “Perhaps — perhaps I don’t 
exactly understand. ” 

For a full minute they sat thus looking at each 
other through the fast dimming light, like two prize- 
fighters meeting for the first time within the ring, and 
taking mental stock before beginning their physical 
argument. Hampton, with a touch of his old audacity 
of manner, was first to break the silence. 

“ So you think I am a damned fool. Well, 
we are in pretty fair accord as to that fact, although 

[70] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


no one before has ever ventured to state it quite so 
clearly in my presence. Perhaps you will kindly 
explain ? '' 

The preacher wet his dry lips with his tongue, 
forgetting himself when his thoughts began to 
crystallize into expression. 

“ I regret having spoken as I did,” he began. 

Such language is not my custom. I was irritated 
because of your haste in rejecting my advances before 
hearing the proposition I came to submit. I certainly 
respect your evident desire to be of assistance to this 
young woman, nor have I the slightest intention of 
interfering between you. Your act in preserving her 
life was a truly noble one, and your loyalty to her 
interests since is worthy of all Christian praise. But 
I believe I have a right to ask, what do you intend 
for the future? Keep her with you? Drag her 
about from camp to camp ? Educate her among the 
contaminating poison of gambling-holes and dance- 
halls ? Is her home hereafter to be the saloon and 
the rough frontier hotel? her ideal of manhood the 
quarrelsome gambler, and of womanhood a painted 
harlot ? Mr. Hampton, you are evidently a man of 
education, of early refinement; you have known 
better things; and I have come to you seeking merely 
to aid you in deciding this helpless young woman’s 
destiny. I thought, I prayed, you would be at once 
interested in that purpose, and would comprehend the 
reasonableness of my position.” 

Hampton sat silent, gazing out of the window, his 
eyes apparently on the lights now becoming dimly 

[71] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


visible in the saloon opposite. For a considerable 
time he made no move, and the other straightened 
back in his chair watching him. 

‘‘ Well ! he ventured at last, ‘^what is your propo- 
sition?” The question was quietly asked, but a 
slight tremor in the low voice told of repressed 
feeling. 

“ That, for the present at least, you confide this 
girl into the care of some worthy woman.” 

‘‘ Have you any such in mind ? ” 

‘‘ I have already discussed the matter briefly with 
Mrs. Herndon, wife of the superintendent of the 
Golden Rule mines. She is a refined Christian lady, 
beyond doubt the most proper person to assume such 
a charge in this camp. There is very little in such a 
place as this to interest a woman of her capabilities, 
and I believe she would be delighted to have such an 
opportunity for doing good. She has no children of 
her own.” 

Hampton flung his sodden cigar butt out of the 
window. ‘H *11 talk it over to-morrow with — with 
Miss Gillis,** he said, somewhat gruffly. “ It may 
be this means a good deal more to me than you 
suppose, parson, but I *m bound to acknowledge there 
is considerable hard sense in what you have just said, 
and I ’ll talk it over with the girl.” 

Wynkoop held out his hand cordially, and the 
firm grasp of the other closed over his fingers. 

don’t exactly know why I didn’t kick you 
downstairs,” the latter commented, as though still in 
wonder at himself. “ Never remember being quite so 
[72] 


A NEW PROPOSITION 


considerate before, but I reckon you must have come 
at me in about the right way.” 

If Wynkoop answered, his words were indis- 
tinguishable, but Hampton remained standing in the 
open door watching the missionary go down the 
narrow stairs. 

‘‘Nervy little devil,” he acknowledged slowly to 
himself. “And maybe, after all, that would be the 
best thing for the Kid.” 


[73] 


CHAPTER VI 
“To Be or Not to Be” 

T hey were seated rather close together upon the 
steep hillside, gazing silently down upon squalid 
Glencaid. At such considerable distance all the 
dull shabbiness of the mining town had disappeared, 
and it seemed almost ideal, viewed against the natural 
background of brown rocks and green trees. All 
about them was the clear, invigorating air of the uplands, 
through which the eyes might trace for miles the 
range of irregular rocky hills, while just above, seem- 
ingly almost within touch of the extended hand, 
drooped the blue circling sky, unflecked by cloud. 
Everywhere was loneliness, no sound telling of the 
labor of man reached them, and the few scattered 
buildings far below resembling mere doll-houses. 

They had conversed only upon the constantly 
changing beauty of the scene, or of incidents connected 
with their upward climb, while moving slowly along 
the trail through the fresh morning sunshine. Now 
they sat in silence, the young girl, with cheeks 
flushed and dreamy eyes aglow, gazing far off along 
the valley, the man watching her curiously, and won- 
dering how best to approach his task. For the first 
time he began to realize the truth, which had been 
partially borne in upon him the previous evening by 
Wynkoop, that this was no mere child with whom he 

[74] 


‘‘TO BE OR NOT TO BE*’ 


dealt, but a young girl upon the verge of womanhood. 
Such knowledge began to reveal much that came be- 
fore him as new, changing the entire nature of their 
present relationship, as well as the scope of his own 
plain duty. It was his wont to look things squarely 
in the face, and unpleasant and unwelcome as was the 
task now confronting him, during the long night hours 
he had settled it once for all — the preacher’s words 
were just. 

Observing her now, sitting thus in total uncon- 
sciousness of his scrutiny, Hampton made no attempt 
to analyze the depth of his interest for this waif who 
had come drifting into his life. He did not in the 
least comprehend why she should have touched his 
heart with generous impulses, nor did he greatly care. 
The fact was far the more important, and that fact 
he no longer questioned. He had been a lonely, 
unhappy, discontented man for many a long year, 
shunned by his own sex, who feared him, never long 
seeking the society of the other, and retaining little real 
respect for himself. Under such conditions a reaction 
was not unnatural, and, short as the time had been 
since their first meeting, this odd, straightforward chit 
of a girl had found an abiding-place in his heart, 
had furnished him a distinct motive in life before 
unknown. 

Even to his somewhat prejudiced eyes she was not 
an attractive creature, for she possessed no clear con- 
ception of how to render apparent those few feminine 
charms she possessed. Negligence and total un- 
consciousness of self, coupled with lack of womanly 

[75] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


companionship and guidance, had left her altogether in 
the rough. He marked now the coarse ragged shoes, 
the cheap patched skirt, the tousled auburn hair, the 
sunburnt cheeks with a suggestion of freckles plainly 
visible beneath the eyes, and some of the fastidiousness 
of earlier days caused him to shrug his shoulders. 
Yet underneath the tan there was the glow of perfect 
young health; the eyes were frank, brave, unflinching; 
while the rounded chin held a world of character in its 
firm contour. Somehow the sight of this brought 
back to him that abiding faith in her ‘‘ dead gameness ” 
which had first awakened his admiration. ‘‘She’s got 
it in her,” he thought, silently, “and, by thunder ! 
I ’m here to help her get it out.” 

“Kid,” he ventured at last, turning over a broken 
fragment of rock between his restless fingers, but with- 
out lifting his eyes, “you were talking while we came 
up the trail about how we ’d do this and that after a 
while. You don’t suppose I ’m going to have any 
useless girl like you hanging around on to me, 
do you ? ” 

She glanced quickly about at him, as though such 
unexpected expressions startled her from a pleasant 
reverie. “Why, I — I thought that was the way you 
planned it yesterday,” she exclaimed, doubtfully. 

“Oh, yesterday ! Well, you see, yesterday I was 
sort of dreaming ; to-day I am wide awake, and I ’ve 
about decided. Kid, that for your own good, and my 
comfort, I ’ve got to shake you.” 

A sudden gleam of fierce resentment leaped into 
the dark eyes, the unrestrained glow of a passion which 

[76] 


‘‘TO BE OR NOT TO BE’’ 


had never known control. “ Oh, you have, have you. 
Mister Bob Hampton? You have about decided! 
Well, why don’t you altogether decide? I don’t think 
Tm down on my knees begging you for mercy. Good 
Lord 1 I reckon I can get along all right without you — 
I did before. Just what happened to give you such a 
change of heart? ” 

“I made the sudden discovery,” he said, affect- 
ing a laziness he was very far from feeling, “ that you 
were too near being a young woman to go traipsing 
around the country with me, living at shacks, and hav- 
ing no company but gambling sharks, and that class 
of cattle.” 

“Oh, did you? What else?” 

“Only that our tempers don’t exactly seem to 
jibe, and the two of us can’t be bosses in the same 
ranch.” 

She looked at him contemptuously, swinging her 
body farther around on the rock, and sitting stiffly, 
the color on her cheeks deepening through the sun- 
burn. “Now see here. Mister Bob Hampton, you’re 
a fraud, and you know it 1 Did n’t 1 understand 
exactly who you was, and what was your business? 
Didn’t I know you was a gambler, and a ‘bad man’? 
Didn’t I tell you plain enough out yonder,” — and her 
voice faltered slightly, — “just what I thought about 
you? Good Lord! I have n’t been begging to stick 
with you, have I? I just didn’t know which way to 
turn, or who to turn to, after dad was killed, and you 
sorter hung on to me, and I let it go the way I sup- 
posed you wanted it. But I ’m not particularly stuck 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


on your style, let me tell you, and I reckon there ’s 
plenty of ways for me to get along. Only first, I pro- 
pose to understand what your little game is. You 
don't throw down your hand like that without some 
reason." 

Hampton sat up, spurred into instant admiration 
by such independence of spirit. “You grow rather 
good-looking. Kid, when you get hot, but you go at 
things half-cocked, and you Ve got to get over it. 
That 's the whole trouble — you Ve never been trained, 
and I would n't make much of a trainer for a 
high-strung filly like you. Ever remember your 
mother?" 

“Mighty little; reckon she must have died when 
I was about five years old. That 's her picture." 

Hampton took in his hand the old-fashioned 
locket she held out toward him, the long chain 
still clasped about her throat, and pried open the 
stiff catch with his knife blade. She bent down to 
fasten her loosened shoe, and when her eyes were up- 
lifted again his gaze was riveted upon the face in the 
picture. 

“Mighty pretty, wasn't she?" she asked with a 
sudden girlish interest, bending forward to look, re- 
gardless of his strained attitude. “And she was 
prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, 
with her hair all hanging down, coming to tuck me 
into bed at night. Someway that 's how I always 
seem to see her." 

The man drew^ a deep breath, and snapped shut 
the locket, yet still retained it in his hand. “Is — is 
[ 78 ] 


‘‘TO BE OR NOT TO 


she dead?'’ he questioned, and his voice trembled in 
spite of steel nerves. 

“Yes, in St. Louis; dad took me there with him 
two years ago, and I saw her grave.” 

“Dad? Do you mean old Gillis ? ” 

She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he 
should speak so fiercely and stare at her in that odd 
way. He seemed to choke twice before he could 
ask the next question. 

“Did he — old Gillis, I mean — claim to be your 
father, or her husband? ” 

“No, I don’t reckon he ever did, but he gave me 
that picture, and told me she was my mother. I a - 
ways lived with him, and called him dad. I reckon 
he liked it, and he was mighty good to me. We were 
at Randolph a long time, and since then he’s been 
post-trader at Bethune. That’s all I know about 
it, for dad never talked very much, and he used to get 
mad when I asked him questions.” 

Hampton dropped the locket from his grasp, and 
arose to his feet. For several minutes he stood with 
his back turned toward her, apparently gazing down 
the valley, his jaw set,* his dimmed eyes seeing noth- 
ing. Slowly the color came creeping back into his 
face, and his hands unclinched. Then he wheeled 
about, and looked down upon her, completely restored 
to his old nature. 

“Then it seems that it is just you and I, Kid, who 
have got to settle this little affair,” he announced, firmly. 
“I ’ll have my say about it, and then you can uncork 
your feelings. I rather imagine I have n’t very much 

[79] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


legal right in the premises, but 1 Ve got a sort of moral 
grip on you by reason of having pulled you out alive 
from that canyon yonder, and I propose to play this 
game to the limit. You say your mother is dead, and 
the man who raised you is dead, and, so far as either 
of us know, there is n't a soul anywhere on earth who 
possesses any claim over you, or any desire to have. 
Then, naturally, the whole jack-pot is up to me, 
provided I Ve got the cards. Now, Kid, waving your 
prejudice aside, I ain't just exactly the best man in this 
world to bring up a girl like you and make a lady out 
of her. I thought yesterday that maybe we might 
manage to hitch along together for a while, but I 've 
got a different think coming to-day. There 's no use 
disfiguring the truth. I 'm a gambler, something of a 
fighter on the side, and folks don't say anything too 
pleasant about my peaceful disposition around these 
settlements ; I have n't any home, and mighty few 
friends, and the few I have got are nothing to boast 
about. I reckon there 's a cause for it all. So, 
considering everything, I 'm about the poorest propo- 
sition ever was heard of to start a young ladies' sem- 
inary. The Lord knows old Gillis was bad enough, 
but I 'm a damned sight worse. Now, some woman 
has got to take you in hand, and I reckon I 've found 
the right one." 

“ Coin' to get married. Bob ? " 

“Not this year; it's hardly become so serious as 
that, but I 'm going to find you a good home here, 
and I 'm going to put up plenty of stuff, so that 
they '11 take care of you all right and proper." 

[8o] 


“TO BE OR NOT TO BE’’ 


The dark eyes never wavered as they looked 
steadily into the gray ones, but the chin quivered 
slightly. 

‘‘ I reckon I ’d rather try it alone, ” she announced 
stubbornly. “Maybe I might have stood it with you. 
Bob Hampton, but a woman is the limit.” 

Hampton in other and happier days had made 
something of a study of the feminine nature, and he 
realized now the utter impracticability of any attempt 
at driving. 

“ I expect it will go rather hard at first. Kid,” he 
admitted craftily, “ but I think you might try it a while 
just to sort of please me.” 

“Who — who is she?” doubtfully. 

“ Mrs. Herndon, wife of the superintendent of the 
‘Golden Rule’ mine”; and he waved his hand toward 
the distant houses. “They tell me she’s a mighty 
fine woman.” 

“ Oh, they do ? Then somebody ’s been stirring 
you up about me, have they ? I thought that was 
about the way of it. Somebody wants to reform me, 
I reckon. Well, maybe I won’t be reformed. Who 
was it. Bob ? ” 

“The Presbyterian Missionary,” he confessed 
reluctantly, “a nervy little chap named Wynkoop ; he 
came in to see me last night while you were asleep.” 
He faced her open scorn unshrinkingly, his mind 
fully decided, and clinging to one thought with all the 
tenacity of his nature. 

“ A preacher ! ” her voice vibrant with derision, 
“a preacher! Well, of all things. Bob Hampton! 

[ 8 .] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


You led around by the nose in that way! Did he 
want you to bring me to Sunday school? A preacher! 
And I suppose the fellow expects to turn me over 
to one of his flock for religious instruction. He'll 
have you studying theology inside of a year. A 
preacher ! Oh, Lord, and you agreed ! Well, I won't 
go ; so there ! " 

“As I understand the affair," Hampton continued, 
as she paused for breath, “ it was Lieutenant Brant who 
suggested the idea of his coming to me. Brant knew 
Gillis, and remembered you, and realizing your un- 
pleasant situation, thought such an arrangement would 
be for your benefit." 

“Brant!" she burst forth in renewed anger; “he 
did, did he ! The putty-faced dandy ! I used to see 
him at Bethune, and you can bet he never bothered his 
head about me then. No, and he didn't even know 
me out yonder, until after the sergeant spoke up. 
What business has that fellow got planning what 1 
shall do ? " 

Hampton made no attempt to answer. It was 
better to let her indignation die out naturally, and 
so he asked a question. “ What is this Brant doing at 
Bethune? There is no cavalry stationed there." 

She glanced up quickly, interested by the sudden 
change in his voice. “ I heard dad say he was kept 
there on some special detail. His regiment is 
stationed at Fort Lincoln, somewhere farther north. 
He used to come down and talk with dad even- 
ings, because daddy saw service in the Seventh 
when it was first organized after the war." 

[82] 


“TO BE OR NOT TO B E’^ 


“ Did you — did you ever hear either of them say 
anything about Major Alfred Brant? He must have 
been this lad's father.” 

‘^No, 1 never heard much they said. Did you 
know him ? ” 

The father, yes, but that was years ago. Come, 
Kid, all this is only ancient history, and just as 
well forgotten. Now, you are a sensible girl, when 
your temper don't get away with you, and I am 
simply going to leave this matter to your better judg- 
ment. Will you go to Mrs. Herndon's, and find out 
how you like it? You needn't stop there an hour 
if she is n't good to you, but you ought not to 
want to remain with me, and grow up like a rough 
boy.'' 

“You — you really want me to go, don't you?'' 

“Yes, I want you to go. It 's a chance for you. 
Kid, and there is n't a bit of a show in the kind of a 
life I lead. I never have been in love with myself, 
and only took to it in the first place because the devil 
happened to drive me that way. The Lord knows I 
don't want to lead any one else through such a muck. 
So it is a try ? '' 

The look of defiance faded slowly out of her face 
as she stood gravely regarding him. The man was in 
deadly earnest, and she felt the quiet insistence of his 
manner. He really desired it to be decided in this 
way, and somehow his will had become her law, al- 
though such a suspicion had never once entered her 
mind. 

“You bet, if you put it that way,'' she consented, 

[83] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


simply, “but I reckon that Mrs. Herndon is likely 
to wish I had n't.’' 

Together, yet scarcely exchanging another word, 
the two retraced their steps slowly down the steep 
trail leading toward the little town in the valley, walk- 
ing unconsciously the pathway of fate, the way of all 
the world. 


[84] 


CHAPTER VII 
‘‘ I Ve Come Here to Live” 

W IDELY as these two companions differed in 
temperament and experience, it would be 
impossible to decide which felt the greater 
uneasiness at the prospect immediately before them. 
The girl openly rebellious, the man extremely doubtful, 
with reluctant steps they approached that tall, homely^ 
yellow house — outwardly the most pretentious in 
Glencaid — which stood well up in the valley, where 
the main road diverged into numerous winding 
trails leading toward the various mines among the 
foothills. 

They were so completely opposite, these two, that 
more than one chance passer-by glanced curiously 
toward them as they picked their way onward through 
the red dust. Hampton, slender yet firmly knit, 
his movements quick like those of a watchful tiger, his 
shoulders set square, his body held erect as though 
trained to the profession of arms, his gray eyes 
marking every movement about him with a suspicion 
born of continual exposure to peril, his features finely 
chiselled, with threads of gray hair beginning to show 
conspicuously about the temples. One would glance 
twice at him anywhere, for in chin, mouth, and eyes were 
plainly pictured the signs of strength, evidences that 
he had fought stern battles, and was no craven. For 

[85] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


good or evil he might be trusted to act instantly, 
and, if need arose, to the very death. His attire of 
fashionably cut black cloth, and his immaculate linen, 
while neat and unobtrusive, yet appeared extremely 
unusual in that careless land of clay-baked overalls and 
dingy woollens. Beside him, in vivid contrast, the girl 
trudged in her heavy shoes and bedraggled skirts, her 
sullen eyes fastened doggedly on the road, her hair 
showing ragged and disreputable in the brilliant sun- 
shine. Hampton himself could not remain altogether 
indifferent to the contrast. 

“You look a little rough. Kid, for a society call,'* 
he said. “If there was any shebang in this mud-hole 
of a town that kept any women's things on sale fit to 
look at, I 'd be tempted to fix you up a bit." 

“Well, I'm glad of it," she responded, grimly. 
“ I hope I look so blame tough that woman won't 
say a civil word to us. You can bet I ain't going to 
strain myself to please the likes of her." 

“You certainly exhibit no symptoms of doing so," 
he admitted, frankly. “ But you might, at least, have 
washed your face and fixed your hair." 

She flashed one angry glance at him, stopping in 
the middle of the road, her head flung back as though 
ready for battle. Then, as if by some swift magic of 
emotion, her expression changed. “ And so you 're 
ashamed of me, are you ?" she asked, her voice sharp 
but unsteady. “ Ashamed to be seen walking with 
me ? Darn it ! I know you are! But I tell you, Mr. 
Bob Hampton, you won't be the next time. And 
what's more, you just don't need to traipse along 
[ 86 ] 


COME HERE TO LIVE’’ 


another step with me now. I don’t want you. I 
reckon I ain’t very much afraid of tackling this 
Presbyterian woman all alone.” 

She swung off fiercely, and the man chuckled 
softly as he followed, watchfully, through the circling, 
red dust cloud created by her hasty feet. The truth 
is, Mr. Hampton possessed troubles and scruples of 
his own in connection with this contemplated call. 
He had never met the lady ; indeed, he could recall 
very few of her sex, combining respectability and 
refinement, whom he had met during the past ten 
years. But he retained some memory of the husband 
as having been associated with a strenuous poker game 
at Placer, in which he also held a prominent place, 
and it would seem scarcely possible that the wife did 
not know whose bullet had turned her for some weeks 
into a sick-nurse. For Herndon he had not even a 
second thought, but the possible ordeal of a woman’s 
tongue was another matter. A cordial reception 
could hardly be anticipated, and Hampton mentally 
braced himself for the worst. 

There were some other things, also, but these he 
brushed aside for the present. He was not the sort 
of man to wear his heart upon his sleeve, and all 
his life long he had fought out his more serious 
battles in loneliness and silence. Now he had 
work to accomplish in the open ; he was going to 
stay with the Kid — after that, quien sabe? So he 
smiled somewhat soberly, swore softly to himself, and 
strode on. He had never yet thrown down his 
cards merely because luck had taken a bad turn. 

[87] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


It was a cheerless-looking house, painted a garish 
yellow, having staring windows, and devoid of a front 
porch, or slightest attempt at shade to render its 
uncomely front less unattractive. Hampton could 
scarcely refrain from forming a mental picture of the 
woman who would most naturally preside within so 
unpolished an abode — an angular, hard-featured, 
vinegar-tempered creatuie, firm settled in her 
prejudices and narrowed by her creed. Had the 
matter been left at that moment to his own deci- 
sion, this glimpse of the house would have turned 
them both back, but the girl unhesitatingly pressed 
forward and turned defiantly in through the gate- 
less opening. He followed in silence along the 
narrow foot-path bordered by weeds, and stood back 
while she stepped boldly up on the rude stone 
slab and rapped sharply against the warped and 
sagging door. A moment they stood thus waiting 
with no response from within. Once she glanced 
suspiciously around at him, only to wheel back 
instantly and once more apply her knuckles to 
the wood. Before he had conjured up something 
worth saying the door was partially opened, and 
a rounded dumpling of a woman, having rosy 
cheeks, her hair iron-gray, her blue eyes half smiling 
in uncertain welcome, looked out upon them 
questioningly. 

‘‘ I Ve come to live here,” announced the girl, 
sullenly. “ That is, if I like it. ” 

The woman continued to gaze at her, as if 
tempted to laugh outright ; then the pleasant blue 
[ 88 ] 


“I’VE COME HERE TO LIVE” 


eyes hardened as their vision swept beyond toward 
Hampton. 

It is extremely kind of you, I ’m sure,” she said 
at last. ‘‘ Why is it I am to be thus honored ? ” 

The girl backed partially off the doorstep, her 
hair flapping in the wind, her cheeks flushed. 

“ Oh, you needn’t put on so much style about it,” 
she blurted out. “You’re Mrs. Herndon, ain’t you? 
Well, then, this is the place where I was sent; but I 
reckon you ain’t no more particular about it than I 
am. There ’s others.” 

“ Who sent you to me ? ” and Mrs. Herndon came 
forth into the sunshine. 

“The preacher.” 

“Oh, Mr. Wynkoop; then you must be the 
homeless girl whom Lieutenant Brant brought in the 
other day. Why did you not say so at first? You 
may come in, my child.” 

There was a sympathetic tenderness apparent now 
in the tones of her voice, which the girl was swift to 
perceive and respond to, yet she held back, her 
independence unshaken. With the quick intuition 
of a woman, Mrs. Herndon bent down, placing one 
hand on the defiant shoulder. 

“ I did not understand, at first, my dear,” she said, 
soothingly, “ or I should never have spoken as I did. 
Some very strange callers come here. But you are 
truly welcome. I had a daughter once ; she must 
have been nearly your age when God took her. 
Won’t you come in ? ” 

While thus speaking she never once glanced 

[89] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


toward the man standing in silence beyond, yet as 
the two passed through the doorway together he fol- 
lowed, unasked. Once within the plainly furnished 
room, and with her arm about the girl’s waist, 
the lines about her mouth hardened. do not 

recall extending my invitation to you,” she said, 
coldly. 

He remained standing, hat in hand, his face 
shadowed, his eyes picturing deep perplexity. 

“For the intrusion I offer my apology,” he 
replied, humbly ; “ but you see I — I feel respon- 

sible for this young woman. She — sort of fell to my 
care when none of her own people were left to look 
after her. I only came to show her the way, and to 
say that I stand ready to pay you well to see to her 
a bit, and show her how to get hold of the right 
things.” 

“ Indeed ! ” and Mrs. Herndon’s voice was not 
altogether pleasant. “ I understood she was entirely 
alone and friendless. Are you that man who brought 
her out of the canyon? ” 

Hampton bowed as though half ashamed of 
acknowledging the act. 

“ Oh ! then I know who you are,” she continued, 
unhesitatingly. “You are a gambler and a bar-room 
rough. I won’t touch a penny of your money. I told 
Mr. Wynkoop that I should n’t, but that I would 
endeavor to do my Christian duty by this poor girl. 
He was to bring her here himself, and keep you 
away.” 

The man smiled slightly, not in the least 

[90] 


‘‘I’VE COME HERE TO LIVE” 


disconcerted by her plain speech. The cutting words 
merely served to put him on his mettle. “ Probably 
we departed from the hotel somewhat earlier than the 
minister anticipated,” he explained, quietly, his 
old ease of manner returning in face of such open 
opposition. “ I greatly regret your evident prejudice, 
madam, and can only say that I have more confidence 
in you than you appear to have in me. I shall 
certainly discover some means by which I may do my 
part in shaping this girl’s future, but in the meanwhile 
will relieve you of my undesired presence.” 

He stepped without into the glare of the sunlight, 
feeling utterly careless as to the woman who had 
affronted him, yet somewhat hurt on seeing that the 
girl had not once lifted her downcast eyes to his 
face. Yet he had scarcely taken three steps toward 
the road before she was beside him, her hand upon 
his sleeve. 

“I won’t stay!” she exclaimed, fiercely, “I won’t. 
Bob Hampton. I ’d rather go with you than be 

His sensitive face flushed with delight, but he 
looked gravely down into her indignant eyes. “ Oh, 
yes, you will. Kid,” and his hand touched her 
roughened hair caressingly. “ She ’s a good, kind 
woman, all right, and I don’t blame her for not liking 
my style.” 

“ Do — do you really want me to stick it out here. 
Bob?” 

It was no small struggle for him to say so, for he 
was beginning to comprehend just what this separation 

[91] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


meant. She was more to him than he had ever 
supposed, more to him than she had been even an 
hour before ; and now he understood clearly that from 
this moment they must ever run farther apart — her 
life tending upward, his down. Yet there was but 
one decision possible. A life which is lonely and 
dissatisfied, a wasted life, never fully realizes how 
lonely, dissatisfied, and wasted it is until some new life, 
beautiful in young hope and possibility, comes into 
contact with it. For a single instant Hampton toyed 
with the temptation confronting him, this opportunity 
of brightening his own miserable future by means of 
her degradation. Then he answered, his voice grown 
almost harsh. This is your best chance, little girl, 
and I want you to stay and fight it out.'* 

Their eyes met, each dimly realizing, although in 
a totally different way, that here was a moment of 
important decision. Mrs. Herndon darkened the 
doorway, and stood looking out. 

‘‘Well, Mr. Bob Hampton," she questioned, 
plainly, “ what is this going to be ? " 

He glanced toward her, slightly lifting his hat, 
and promptly releasing the girl's clinging hand. 

“ Miss Gillis consents to remain," he announced 
shortly, and, denying himself so much as another 
glance at his companion, strode down the narrow path 
to the road. A moment the girl's eyes followed him 
through the dust cloud, a single tear stealing down 
her cheek. Only a short week ago she had utterly 
despised this man, now he had become truly more to 
her than any one else in the wide, wide world. She 

[92] 


‘‘I’VE COME HERE TO LIVE” 


did not in the least comprehend the mystery ; indeed, 
it was no mystery, merely the simple trust of a child 
naturally responding to the first unselfish love given 
it. Perhaps Mrs. Herndon dimly understood, for 
she came forth quietly, and led the girl, now sobbing 
bitterly, within the cool shadows of the house. 


[93] 


CHAPTER VIII 
A Last Revolt 

I T proved a restless day, and a sufficiently unpleas- 
ant one, for Mr. Hampton. For a number of 
years he had been diligently training himself in 
the school of cynicism, endeavoring to persuade him- 
self that he did not in the least care what others 
thought, nor how his own career ended; impelling him- 
self to constant recklessness in life and thought. He 
had thus successfully built up a wall between the pres- 
ent and that past which long haunted his lonely mom- 
ents, and had finally decided that it was hermetically 
sealed. Yet now, this odd chit of a girl, this waif 
whom he had plucked from the jaws of death, had 
overturned this carefully constructed barrier as if it 
had been originally built of mere cardboard, and he 
was compelled again to see himself, loathe himself, 
just as he had in those past years. 

Everything had been changed by her sudden en- 
trance into his life, everything except those unfor- 
tunate conditions which still bound him helpless. 
He looked upon the world no longer through his 
cool, gray eyes, but out of her darker ones, and the 
prospect appeared gloomy enough. He thought it 
all over again and again, dwelling in reawakened mem- 
ory upon details long hidden within the secret recesses 
of his brain, yet so little came from this searching 
[ 94 ] 


A LAST REVOLT 


survey that the result left him no plan for the future. 
He had wandered too far away from home; the path 
leading back was long ago overgrown with weeds, and 
could not now be retraced. One thing he grasped 
clearly, — the girl should be given her chance ; noth- 
ing in his life must ever again soil her or lower her 
ideals. Mrs. Herndon was right, and he realized it; 
neither his presence nor his money were fit to influence 
her future. He swore between his clinched teeth, his 
face grown haggard. The sun’s rays bridged the slow- 
ly darkening valley with cords of red gold, and the 
man pulled himself to his feet by gripping the root 
of a tree. He realized that he had been sitting there 
for hours, and that he was hungry. 

Down beneath, amid the fast awakening noise and 
bustle of early evening, the long discipline of the 
gambler reasserted itself — he got back his nerve. It 
was Bob Hampton, cool, resourceful, sarcastic of 
speech, quick of temper, who greeted the loungers 
about the hotel, and who sat, with his back to the 
wall, in the little dining-room, watchful of all others 
present. And it was Bob Hampton who strolled 
carelessly out upon the darkened porch an hour 
later, leaving a roar of laughter behind him, and an 
enemy as well. Little he cared for that, however, 
in his present mood, and he stood there, amid 
the black shadows, looking contemptuously down 
upon the stream of coatless humanity trooping past 
on pleasure bent, the blue smoke circling his head, 
his gray eyes glowing half angrily. Suddenly he 
leaned forward, clutching the rail in quick surprise. 

[95] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ Kid/’ he exclaimed, harshly, “ what does this 
mean ? What are you doing alone here ? ” 

She stopped instantly and glanced up, her face 
flushing in the light streaming forth from the open 
door of the Occidental. 

“ I reckon I ’m alone here because I want to be,” 
she returned, defiantly. ‘‘ I ain’t no slave. How do 
you get up there ? ” 

He extended his hand, and drew her up beside 
him into the shaded corner. ‘‘Well,” he said, “tell 
me the truth.” 

“ I ’ve quit, that ’s all. Bob. I just could n’t stand 
for reform any longer, and so I ’ve come back here to 
you.” 

The man drew a deep breath. “ Did n’t you like 
Mrs. Herndon?” 

“ Oh, she ’s all right enough, so far as that goes. 
’T ain’t that ; only I just did n’t like some things she 
said and did.” 

“ Kid,” and Hampton straightened up, his voice 
growing stern. “ I ’ve got to know the straight of 
this. You say you like Mrs. Herndon well enough, 
but not some other things. What were they ? ” 

The girl hesitated, drawing back a little from him 
until the light from the saloon fell directly across her 
face. “Well,” she declared, slowly, “you see it had 
to be either her or — or you. Bob, and I ’d rather it 
would be you.” 

“You mean she said you would have to cut me 
out entirely if you stayed there with her ? ” 

She nodded, her eyes filled with entreaty. “ Yes, 

[96] 


A LAST REVOLT 


that was about it. I wasn't ever to have anything 
more to do with you, not even to speak to you if 
we met — and after you 'd saved my life, too." 

‘‘Never mind about that little affair, Kid," and 
Hampton rested his hand gently on her shoulder. 
“That was all in the day's work, and hardly counts 
for much anyhow. Was that all she said?" 

“ She called you a low-down gambler, a gun- 
fighter, a — a miserable bar-room thug, a — a mur- 
derer. She — she said that if I ever dared to speak 
to you again. Bob Hampton, that 1 could leave her 
house. I just could n't stand for that, so I came 
away." 

Hampton never stirred, his teeth set deep into 
his cigar, his hands clinched about the railing. ‘‘ The 
fool ! " he muttered half aloud, then caught his 
breath quickly. “ Now see here. Kid," and he turned 
her about so that he might look down into her eyes, 
“ I 'm mighty glad you like me well enough to put up 
a kick, but if all this is true about me, why should n't 
she say it? Do you believe that sort of a fellow 
would prove a very good kind to look after a young 
lady ? " 

“ I ain't a young lady ! " 

“ No ; well, you 're going to be if I have my way, 
and I don't believe the sort of a gent described would 
be very apt to help you much in getting there." 

“You ain't all that." 

“ Well, perhaps not. Like an amateur artist, 
madam may have laid the colors on a little thick. 
But I am no winged angel, Kid, nor exactly a model 
[97] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


for you to copy after. I reckon you better stick to 
the woman, and cut me.” 

She did not answer, yet he read an unchanged pur- 
pose in her eyes, and his own decision strengthened. 
Some instinct led him to do the right thing ; he drew 
forth the locket from beneath the folds of her dress, 
holding it open to the light. He noticed now a name 
engraven on the gold case, and bent lower to decipher 
the delicate lettering. 

‘‘Was her name Naida?” he questioned, sharply. 
“ It is an uncommon word.” 

“ Yes.” 

Their eyes met, and those of both had perceptibly 
softened. 

“Naida,” his lips dwelt upon the peculiar name 
as though he loved the sound. “ I want you to listen 
to me, child. I sincerely wish I might keep you here 
with me, but I can’t. You are more to me than you 
dream, but it would not be right for me thus deliber- 
ately to sacrifice your whole future to my pleasure. I 
possess nothing to offer you, — no home, no friends, 
no reputation. Practically I am an outlaw, existing 
by my wits, disreputable in the eyes of those who 
are worthy to live in the world. She, who was your 
mother, would never wish you to remain with me. 
She would say I did right in giving you up into the 
care of a good woman. Naida, look on that face in the 
locket, your mother’s face. It is sweet, pure, beauti- 
ful, the face of a good, true woman. Living or dead, 
it must be the prayer of those lips that you become a 
good woman also. She should lead you, not I, for I 

[98] 


A LAST REVOLT 


am unworthy. For her sake, and in her name, I ask 
you to go back to Mrs. Herndon.” 

He could perceive the gathering tears in her eyes, 
and his hand closed tightly about her own. It was 
not one soul alone that struggled. 

“ You will go ? ” 

“ O Bob, I wish you wasn’t a gambler !” 

A moment he remained silent. “ But unfortu- 
nately I am,” he admitted, soberly, “ and it is best 
for you to go back. Won’t you ^ ” 

Her gaze was fastened upon the open locket, the 
fair face pictured there smiling up at her as though in 
pleading also. 

‘‘You truly think she would wish it?” 

“ I know she would.” 

The girl gave utterance to a quick, startled breath, 
as if the vision frightened her. “Then I will go,” 
she said, her voice a mere whisper, “ I will go.” 

He led her down the steps, out into the jostling 
crowd below, as if she had been some fairy princess. 
Men occasionally spoke to hinl, but seemingly he 
heard nothing, pressing his way through the mass of 
moving figures in utter unconsciousness of their pres- 
ence. Her locket hung dangling, and he slipped it 
back into its place and drew her slender form yet 
closer against his own, as they stepped forth into the 
black, deserted road. Once, in the last faint ray of 
light which gleamed from the windows of the Miners’ 
Retreat, she glanced up shyly into his face. It was 
white and hard set, and she did not venture to break 
the silence. Half-way up the gloomy ravine they 

[99] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


met a man and woman coming along the narrow path. 
Hampton drew her aside out of their way, then spoke 
coldly. 

‘‘ Mrs. Herndon, were you seeking your lost 
charge ^ I have her here.” 

The two passing figures halted, peering through 
the darkness. 

‘‘ Who are you ? ” It was the gruff voice of the 
man. 

Hampton stepped out directly in his path. 
“ Herndon,” he said, calmly, ‘^you and I have clashed 
once before, and the less you have to say to-night the 
better. I am in no mood for trifling, and this hap- 
pens to be your wife's affair.” 

“ Madam,” and he lifted his hat, holding it in his 
hand, I am bringing back the runaway, and she has 
now pledged herself to remain with you.” 

‘H was not seeking her,” she returned, icily. 
have no desire to cultivate the particular friends of 
Mr. Hampton.” 

‘^So I have understood, and consequently relin- 
quish here and now all claims upon Miss Gillis. She 
has informed me of your flattering opinion regarding 
me, and I have indorsed it as being mainly true to 
life. Miss Gillis has been sufficiently shocked at thus 
discovering my real character, and now returns in pen- 
itence to be reared according to the admonitions of 
the Presbyterian faith. Do I state this fairly, Naida?” 

“I have come back,” she faltered, fingering the 
chain at her throat, “ I have come back.” 

“Without Bob Hampton?” 

[loo] 


A LAST REVOLT 


The girl glanced uneasily toward him, but he stood 
motionless in the gloom. 

“Yes — I — I suppose I must.’' 

Hampton rested his hand softly upon her shoul- 
der, his fingers trembling, although his voice remained 
coldly deliberate. 

“ I trust this is entirely satisfactory, Mrs. Hern- 
don,” he said. “ I can assure you I know absolutely 
nothing regarding her purpose of coming to me to- 
night. I realize quite clearly my own deficiencies, 
and pledge myself hereafter not to interfere with you 
in any way. You accept the trust, I believe?” 

She gave utterance to a deep sigh of resignation. 
“It comes to me clearly as a Christian duty,” she 
acknowledged, doubtfully, “and I suppose I must take 
up my cross; but — ” 

“But you have doubts,” he interrupted. “Well, 
I have none, for I have greater faith in the girl, and — 
perhaps in God. Good-night, Naida.” 

He bowed above the hand the girl gave him in the 
darkness, and ever after she believed he bent lower, 
and pressed his lips upon it. The next moment 
the black night had closed him out, and she stood 
there, half frightened at she knew not what, on the 
threshold of her new life. 


[lOl] 


CHAPTER IX 
At the Occidental 

H ampton slowly picked his way back through 
the darkness down the silent road, his only 
guide those dim yellow lights flickering in the 
distance. He walked soberly, his head bent slightly 
forward, absorbed in thought. Suddenly he paused, 
and swore savagely, his disgust at the situation burst- 
ing all bounds; yet when he arrived opposite the 
beam of light streaming invitingly forth from the 
windows of the first saloon, he was whistling softly, 
his head held erect, his cool eyes filled with reckless 
daring. 

It was Saturday night, and the mining town was 
already alive. The one long, irregular street was 
jammed with constantly moving figures, the numerous 
saloons ablaze, the pianos sounding noisily, the shuf- 
fling of feet in the crowded dance-halls incessant. 
Fakers were everywhere industriously hawking their 
useless wares and entertaining the loitering crowds, 
while the roar of voices was continuous. Cowboys 
from the wide plains, miners from the hidden gulches, 
ragged, hopeful prospectors from the more distant 
mountains, teamsters, and half-naked Indians, com- 
mingled in the restless throng, passing and repassing 
from door to door, careless in dress, rough in manner, 
boisterous in language. Here and there amid this 


AT THE OCCIDENTAL 


heterogeneous population of toilers and adventurers, 
would appear those attired in the more conventional 
garb of the East, — capitalists hunting new invest- 
ments, or chance travellers seeking to discover a new 
thrill amid this strange life of the frontier. Every- 
where, brazen and noisy, flitted women, bold of eye, 
painted of cheek, gaudy of raiment, making mock of 
their sacred womanhood. Riot reigned unchecked, 
while the quiet, sleepy town of the afternoon blos- 
somed under the flickering lights into a saturnalia of 
unlicensed pleasure, wherein the wages of sin were 
death. 

Hampton scarcely noted this marvellous change; 
to him it was no uncommon spectacle. He pushed 
his way through the noisy throng with eyes ever 
watchful for the faces. His every motion was that of 
a man who had fully decided upon his course. 
Through the widely opened doors of the Occidental 
streams of blue and red shirted men were constantly 
flowing in and out; a band played strenuously on the 
wide balcony overhead, while beside the entrance a 
loud-voiced ‘‘barker” proclaimed the many attractions 
within. Hampton swung up the broad wooden steps 
and entered the bar-room, which was crowded by 
jostling figures, the ever-moving mass as yet good- 
natured, for the night was young. At the lower end 
of the long, sloppy bar he stopped for a moment to 
nod to the fellow behind. 

“Anything going on to-night worth while, Jim?” 
he questioned, quietly. 

“Rather stiff game, they tell me, just started in the 

[103] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


back room/' was the genial reply. ‘‘Two Eastern 
suckers, with Red Slavin sitting in." 

The gambler passed on, pushing rather uncere- 
moniously through the throng of perspiring humanity. 
He appeared out of place amid the rough element 
jostling him, and more than one glanced at him 
curiously, a few swearing as he elbowed them aside. 
Scarcely noticing this, he drew a cigar from his pocket, 
and stuck it unlighted between his teeth. The large 
front room upstairs was ablaze with lights, every game 
in full operation and surrounded by crowds of 
devotees. Tobacco smoke in clouds circled to the 
low ceiling, and many of the players were noisy and 
profane, while the various calls of faro, roulette, keno, 
and high-ball added to the confusion and to the din 
of shuffling feet and excited exclamations. Hampton 
glanced about superciliously, shrugging his shoulders 
in open contempt — all this was far too coarse, too 
small, to awaken his interest. He observed the 
various faces at the tables — a habit one naturally 
forms who has desperate enemies in plenty — and then 
walked directly toward the rear of the room. A 
thick, dingy red curtain hung there ; he held back its 
heavy folds and stepped within the smaller apartment 
beyond. 

Three men sat at the single table, cards in hand, 
and Hampton involuntarily whistled softly behind 
his teeth at the first glimpse of the money openly dis- 
played before them. This was apparently not so bad 
for a starter, and his waning interest revived. A red- 
bearded giant, sitting so as to face the doorway, 
[104] 


AT THE OCCIDENTAL 


glanced up quickly at his entrance, his coarse mouth 
instantly taking on the semblance of a smile. 

Ah, Bob,” he exclaimed, with an evident effort 
at cordiality; ‘‘been wondering if you wouldn’t show 
up before the night was over. You ’re the very fellow 
to make this a four-handed affair, provided you carry 
sufficient stuff.” 

Hampton came easily forward into the full glow 
of the swinging oil lamp, his manner coolly deliberate, 
his face expressionless. “ I feel no desire to intrude,” 
he explained, quietly, watching the uplifted faces. “I 
believe I have never before met these gentlemen.” 

Slavin laughed, his great white fingers drumming 
the table. 

“It is an acquaintance easily made,” he said, 
“provided one can afford to trot in their class, for 
it is money that talks at this table to-night. Mr. 
Hampton, permit me to present Judge Hawes, of 
Denver, and Mr. Edgar Willis, president of the T. 
P. & R. I have no idea what they are doing in this 
hell-hole of a town, but they are dead-game sports, 
and I have been trying my best to amuse them while 
they’re here.” 

Hampton bowed, instantly recognizing the names. 

“ Glad to assist,” he murmured, sinking into a 
vacant chair. “ What limit? ” 

“We have had no occasion to discuss that matter 
as yet,” volunteered Hawes, sneeringly. “ However, 
if you have scruples we might settle upon something 
within reason.” 

Hampton ran the undealt pack carelessly through 

[105] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


his fingers, his lips smiling pleasantly. ‘‘Oh, never 
mind, if it chances to go above my pile I ’ll drop out. 
Meanwhile, 1 hardly believe there is any cause for 
you to be modest on my account.” 

The play opened quietly and with some restraint, 
the faces of the men remaining impassive, their 
watchful glances evidencing nothing either of success 
or failure. Hampton played with extreme caution 
for some time, his eyes studying keenly the others 
about the table, seeking some deeper understand- 
ing of the nature of his opponents, their strong and 
weak points, and whether or not there existed any 
prior arrangement between them. He was there 
for a purpose, a clearly defined purpose, and he 
felt no inclination to accept unnecessary chances 
with the fickle Goddess of Fortune. To one 
trained in the calm observation of small things, 
and long accustomed to weigh his adversaries 
with care, it was not extremely difficult to class 
the two strangers, and Hampton smiled softly on 
observing the size of the rolls rather ostentatiously 
exhibited by them. He felt that his lines had 
fallen in pleasant places, and looked forward with 
serene confidence to the enjoyment of a royal game, 
provided only he exercised sufficient patience and 
the other gentlemen possessed the requisite nerve. 
H is satisfaction was in noways lessened by the 
sound of their voices, when incautiously raised 
in anger over some unfortunate play. He im- 

mediately recognized them as the identical individuals 
who had loudly and vainly protested over his 
[106] 


AT THE OCCIDENTAL 


occupancy of the best rooms at the hotel. He 
chuckled grimly. 

But what bothered him particularly was Slavin. 
The cool gray eyes, glancing with such apparent 
negligence across the cards in his hands, noted every 
slight movement of the red-bearded gambler, in 
expectation of detecting some sign of trickery, 
or some evidence that he had been selected by this 
precious trio for the purpose of easy plucking. 
Knavery was Slavin’s style, but apparently he was now 
playing a straight game, no doubt realizing clearly, 
behind his impassive mask of a face, the utter futility 
of seeking to outwit one of Hampton’s enviable 
reputation. 

It was, unquestionably, a fairly fought four-handed 
battle, and at last, thoroughly convinced of this, 
Hampton settled quietly down, prepared to play out 
his game. The hours rolled on unnoted, the men 
tireless, their faces immovable, the cards dealt silently. 
The stakes grew steadily larger, and curious visitors, 
hearing vague rumors without, ventured in, to stand 
behind the chairs of the absorbed players and look on. 
Now and then a startled exclamation evidenced the 
depth of their interest and excitement, but at the table 
no one spoke above a strained whisper, and no eye 
ventured to wander from the board. Several times 
drinks were served, but Hampton contented himself 
with a gulp of water, always gripping an unlighted 
cigar between his teeth. He was playing now with 
apparent recklessness, never hesitating over a card, his 
eye as watchful as that of a hawk, his betting quick, 

[•07] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


confident, audacious. The contagion of his spirit 
seemed to affect the others, to force them into 
desperate wagers, and thrill the lookers-on. The 
perspiration was beading Slavin’s forehead, and now 
and then an oath burst unrestrained from his hairy 
lips. Hawes and Willis sat white-faced, bent forward 
anxiously over the table, their fingers shaking as they 
handled the fateful cards, but Hampton played 
without perceptible tremor, his utterances few and 
monosyllabic, his calm face betraying not the faintest 
emotion. 

And he was steadily winning. Occasionally some 
other hand drew in the growing stock of gold and 
bank notes, but not often enough to offset those con- 
tinued gains that began to heap up in such an alluring 
pile upon his portion of the table. The watchers 
began to observe this, and gathered more closely about 
his chair, fascinated by the luck with which the cards 
came floating into his hands, the cool judgment of his 
critical plays, the reckless abandon with which he 
forced success. The little room was foul with tobacco 
smoke and electric with ill-repressed excitement, yet 
he played on imperturbably, apparently hearing 
nothing, seeing nothing, his entire personality concen- 
trated on his play. Suddenly he forced the fight to a 
finish. The opportunity came in a jack-pot which 
Hawes had opened. The betting began with a cool 
thousand. Then Hampton's turn came. Without 
drawing, his cards yet lying face downward before 
him on the board, his calm features as immovable as 
the Sphinx, he quietly pushed his whole accumulated 
[io8] 


AT THE OCCIDENTAL 


pile to the centre, named the sum, and leaned back in 
his chair, his eyes cold, impassive. Hawes threw 
down his hand, wiping his streaming face with his 
handkerchief ; Willis counted his remaining roll, hesi- 
tated, looked again at the faces of his cards, flung 
aside two, drawing to fill, and called loudly for a 
show-down, his eyes protruding. Slavin, cursing 
fiercely under his red beard, having drawn one card, 
his perplexed face instantly brightening as he glanced 
at it, went back into his hip pocket for every cent he 
had, and added his profane demand for a chance at 
the money. 

A fortune rested on the table, a fortune the 
ownership of which was to be decided in a single 
moment, and by the movement of a hand. The 
crowd swayed eagerly forward, their heads craned over 
to see more clearly, their breathing hushed. Willis 
was gasping, his whole body quivering ; Slavin was 
watching Hampton’s hands as a cat does a mouse, his 
thick lips parted, his fingers twitching nervously. The 
latter smiled grimly, his motions deliberate, his eyes 
never wavering. Slowly, one by one, he turned up 
his cards, never even deigning to glance downward, 
his entire manner that of unstudied indifference. 
One — two — three. Willis uttered a snarl like a 
stricken wild beast, and sank back in his chair, his eyes 
closed, his cheeks ghastly. Four. Slavin brought 
down his great clenched fist with a crash on the table, 
a string of oaths bursting unrestrained from his lips. 
Five. Hampton, never stirring a muscle, sat there 
like a statue, watching. His right hand kept hidden 
[109] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


beneath the table, with his left he quietly drew in the 
stack of bills and coin, pushing the stuff heedlessly 
into the side pocket of his coat, his gaze never once 
wandering from those stricken faces fronting him. 
Then he softly pushed back his chair and stood erect. 
Willis never moved, but Slavin rose unsteadily to his 
feet, gripping the table fiercely with both hands. 

‘‘ Gentlemen,’* said Hampton, gravely, his clear 
voice sounding like the sudden peal of a bell, ‘‘ I can 
only thank you for your courtesy in this matter, and 
bid you all good-night. However, before I go it may 
be of some interest for me to say that I have played 
my last game.” 

Somebody laughed sarcastically, a harsh, hateful 
laugh. The speaker whirled, took one step forward; 
there was the flash of an extended arm, a dull crunch, 
and Red Slavin went crashing backward against the 
wall. As he gazed up, dazed and bewildered, from 
the floor, the lights glimmered along a blue-steel 
barrel. 

‘‘Not a move, you red brute,” and Hampton 
spurned him contemptuously with his heel. “This is 
no variety show, and your laughter was in poor taste. 
However, if you feel particularly hilarious to-night 
I’ll give you another chance. I said this was my last 
game; I’ll repeat it — this was my last game! Now, 
damn you ! if you feel like it, laugh ! ” 

He swept the circle of excited faces, his eyes glow- 
ing like two diamonds, his thin lips compressed into a 
single straight line. 

“Mr. Slavin appears to have lost his previous 
[no] 



“ Mr. Slavin Appears to have Lost his Previous Sense 
OF Humor,” He Remarked, Calmly. 



AT THE OCCIDENTAL 


sense of humor/’ he remarked, calmly. “ I will now 
make my statement for the third time — this was my 
last game. Perhaps some of you gentlemen also may 
discover this to be amusing.” 

The heavy, strained breathing of the motionless 
crowd was his only answer, and a half smile of bitter 
contempt curled Hampton’s lips, as he swept over 
them a last defiant glance. 

‘‘Not quite so humorous as it seemed to be at 
first, I reckon,” he commented, dryly. “ Slavin,” and 
he prodded the red giant once more with his foot, 
“I’m going out; if you make any attempt to leave 
this room within the next five minutes I ’ll kill you in 
your tracks, as I would a mad dog. You stacked 
cards twice to-night, but the last time I beat you fairly 
at your own game.” 

He held aside the heavy curtains with his left hand 
and backed slowly out facing them, the deadly re- 
volver shining ominously in the other. Not a man 
moved; Slavin glowered at him from the floor, an 
impotent curse upon his lips. Then the red drapery 
fell. 

While the shadows of the long night still hung 
over the valley, Naida, tossing restlessly upon her 
strange bed within the humble yellow house at the 
fork of the trails, was aroused to wakefulness by the 
pounding of a horse’s hoofs on the plank bridge span- 
ning the creek. She drew aside the curtain and looked 
out, shading her eyes t6 see clearer through the poor 
glass. All she perceived was a somewhat deeper 
smudge when the rider swept rapidly past, horse and 

[III] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


man a shapeless shadow. Three hours later she 
awoke again, this time to the full glare of day, and to 
the remembrance that she was now facing a new life. 
As she lay there thinking, her eyes troubled but tear- 
less, far away on the sun-kissed uplands Hampton 
was spurring forward his horse, already beginning to 
exhibit signs of weariness. Bent slightly over the 
saddle pommel, his eyes upon those snow-capped 
peaks still showing blurred and distant, he rode 
steadily on, the only moving object amid all that wide, 
desolate landscape. 


[ 112 ] 


PART II 


WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID 



PART II 

WHAT OCCURRED IN GLENCAID 


CHAPTER I 

The Arrival of Miss Spencer 

T here was a considerable period when events 
of importance in Glencaid's history were viewed 
against the background of the opening of its 
first school. This was not entirely on account of the 
deep interest manifested in the cause of higher edu- 
cation by the residents, but owing rather to the 
personality of the pioneer school-teacher, and the 
deep, abiding impress which she made upon the com- 
munity. 

Miss Phoebe Spencer came direct to Glencaid 
from the far East, her starting-point some little junction 
place back in Vermont, although she proudly named 
Boston as her home, having once visited in that 
metropolis for three delicious weeks. She was of an 
ardent, impressionable nature. Her mind was nur- 
tured upon Eastern conceptions of our common 
country, her imagination aglow with weird tales of the 
frontier, and her bright eyes perceived the vivid color- 
ing of romance in each prosaic object west of the tawny 
Missouri. All appeared so different from that estab- 
lished life to which she had grown accustomed, — the 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


people, the country, the picturesque language, — 
while her brain so teemed with lurid pictures of border 
experiences and heroes as to reveal romantic possibil- 
ities everywhere. The vast, mysterious West, with its 
seemingly boundless prairies, grand, solemn mountains, 
and frankly spoken men peculiarly attired and every- 
where bearing the inevitable ‘‘gun,” was to her a 
newly discovered world. She could scarcely compre- 
hend its reality. As the apparently illimitable plains, 
barren, desolate, awe-inspiring, rolled away behind, 
mile after mile, like a vast sea, and left a measureless 
expanse of grim desert between her and the old life, 
her unfettered imagination seemed to expand with the 
fathomless blue of the Western sky. As her eager eyes 
traced the serrated peaks of a snow-clad mountain 
range, her heart throbbed with anticipation of wonders 
yet to come. Homesickness was a thing undreamed 
of ; her active brain responded to each new impression. 

She sat comfortably ensconced in the back seat of 
the old, battered red coach, surrounded by cushions 
for protection from continual jouncing, as the Jehu in 
charge urged his restive mules down the desolate 
valley of the Bear Water. Her cheeks were flushed, 
her wide-open eyes filled with questioning, her pale 
fluffy hair frolicking with the breeze, as pretty a 
picture of young womanhood as any one could wish to 
see. Nor was she unaware of this fact. During the 
final stage of her long journey she had found two con- 
genial souls, sufficiently picturesque to harmonize with 
her ideas of wild Western romance. 

These two men were lolling in the less comfortable 

[ii6] 


THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER 


seat opposite, secretly longing for a quiet smoke out- 
side, yet neither willing to desert this Eastern divinity 
to his rival. The big fellow, his arm run carelessly 
through the leather sling, his bare head projecting half 
out of the open window, was Jack Moffat, half-owner 
of the ‘‘ Golden Rule,” and enjoying a well-earned rep- 
utation as the most ornate and artistic liar in the Ter- 
ritory. For two hours he had been exercising his 
talent to the full, and merely paused now in search of 
some fresh inspiration, holding in supreme and silent 
contempt the rather feeble imitations of his less-gifted 
companion. It is also just to add that Mr. Moffat 
personally formed an ideal accompaniment to his vivid 
narrations of adventure, and he was fully aware of the 
fact that Miss Spencer’s appreciative eyes wandered 
frequently in his direction, noting his tanned cheeks, 
his long silky mustache, the somewhat melancholy 
gleam of his dark eyes — hiding beyond doubt some 
mystery of the past, the nature of which was yet to be 
revealed. Mr. Moffat, always strong along this line 
of feminine sympathy, felt newly inspired by these 
evidences of interest in his tales, and by something in 
Miss Spencer’s face which bespoke admiration. 

The fly in the ointment of this long day’s ride, 
the third party, whose undesirable presence and per- 
sonal knowledge of Mr. Moffat’s past career rather 
seriously interfered with the latter’s flights of imagi- 
nation, was William McNeil, foreman of the “ Bar V” 
ranch over on Sinsiniwa Creek. McNeil was not 
much of a talker, having an impediment in his speech, 
and being a trifle bashful in the presence of a 

[n?] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


lady. But he caught the eye, — a slenderly built, 
reckless fellow, smoothly shaven, with a strong chin 
and bright laughing eyes, — and as he lolled carelessly 
back in his bearskin “chaps’* and wide-brimmed som- 
brero, occasionally throwing in some cool, insinuating 
comment regarding Moffat’s recitals, the latter experi- 
enced a strong inclination to heave him overboard. 
The slight hardening of McNeil’s eyes at such 
moments had thus far served, however, as sufficient 
restraint, while the unobservant Miss Spencer, unaware 
of the silent duel thus being conducted in her very 
presence, divided her undisguised admiration, play- 
ing havoc with the susceptible heart of each, and 
all unconsciously laying the foundations for future 
trouble. 

“ Why, how truly remarkable ! ” she exclaimed, 
her cheeks glowing. “It’s all so different from the 
East ; heroism seems to be in the very air of this 
country, and your adventure was so very unusual. 
Don’t you think so, Mr. McNeil?” 

The silent foreman hitched himself suddenly up- 
right, his face unusually solemn. “Why — eh — yes, 
miss — you might — eh — say that. He,” with a flip 
of his hand toward the other, “eh — reminds me — 
of — eh — an old friend.” 

“Indeed? How extremely interesting!” eagerly 
scenting a new story. “ Please tell me who it was, 
Mr. McNeil.” 

“Oh — eh — knew him when I was a boy — eh — 
Munchausen.” 

Mr. Moffat drew in his head violently, with an 

[.i8] 


THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER 


exclamation nearly profane, yef before he could speak 
Miss Spencer intervened. 

‘‘Munchausen! Why, Mr. McNeil, you surely 
do not intend to question the truth of Mr. Moffat's 
narrative? " 

The foreman's eyes twinkled humorously, but the 
lines of his face remained calmly impassive. “My — 
eh — reference," he explained, gravely, “was — eh — 
entirely to the — eh — local color, the — eh — expert 
touches." 

“Oh!" 

“Yes, miss. It's — eh — bad taste out here to — 
eh — doubt anybody's word — eh — publicly." 

Moffat stirred uneasily, his hand flung behind him, 
but McNeil was gazing into the lady's fair face, appar- 
ently unconscious of any other presence. 

“ But all this time you have not favored me with 
any of your own adventures, Mr. McNeil. I am 
very sure you must have had hundreds out on these 
wide plains." 

The somewhat embarrassed foreman shook his 
head discouragingly. 

“ Oh, but I just know you have, only you are so 
modest about recounting them. Now, that scar just 
under your hair — really it is not at all unbecoming — 
surely that reveals a story. Was it caused by an 
Indian arrow ? " 

McNeil crossed his legs, and wiped his damp fore- 
head with the back of his hand. “Hoof of a 
damn pack-mule," he explained, forgetting him- 
self. “The — eh — cuss lifted me ten feet." 

[i'9] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Moffat laughed hoarsely, but as the foreman 
straightened up quickly, the amazed girl joined happily 
in, and his own face instantly exhibited the con- 
tagion. 

“ Ain’t much — eh — ever happens out on a ranch,” 
he said, doubtfully, except dodgin’ steers, and — eh — 
bustin’ broncoes.” 

Your blame mule story,” broke in Moffat, who had 
at last discovered his inspiration, “ reminds me of a 
curious little incident occurring last year just across 
the divide. I don’t recall ever telling it before, but 
it may interest you. Miss Spencer, as illustrative of 
one phase of life in this country. A party of us were 
out after bear, and one night when I chanced to be left 
all alone in camp, I did n’t dare fall asleep and leave 
everything unguarded, as the Indians were all around 
as thick as leaves on a tree. So I decided to sit up in 
front of the tent on watch. Along about midnight, I 
suppose, I dropped off into a doze, for the first thing 
I heard was the hee-haw of a mule right in my ear. 
It sounded like a clap of thunder, and I jumped up, 
coming slap-bang against the brute’s nose so blamed 
hard it knocked me flat ; and then, when I fairly got 
my eyes open, I saw five Sioux Indians creeping 
along through the moonlight, heading right toward 
our pony herd. I tell you things looked mighty 
skittish for me just then, but what do you suppose I 
did with ’em ? ” 

‘^Eh — eat ’em, likely,” suggested McNeil, 
thoughtfully, ‘Tried with plenty of — eh — salt; heard 
they were — eh — good that way.” 

[I20] 


THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER 


Mr. Moffat half rose to his feet. 

‘‘ You damn — '' 

“O Mr. McNeil, how perfectly ridiculous chimed 
in Miss Spencer. “Please do go on, Mr. Moffat; 
it is so exceedingly interesting.” 

The incensed narrator sank reluctantly back into 
his seat, his eyes yet glowing angrily. “Well, I crept 
carefully along a little gully until I got where them 
Indians were just exactly opposite me in a direct line. 
I had an awful heavy gun, carrying a slug of lead 
near as big as your fist. Had it fixed up specially 
fer grizzlies. The fellow creepin' along next me was 
a tremendous big buck ; he looked like a plum giant 
in that moonlight, and I 'd just succeeded in drawin* a 
bead on him when a draught of air from up the gully 
strikin' across the back of my neck made me sneeze, 
and that buck turned round and saw me. You 
would n’t hardly believe what happened.” 

“Whole — eh — bunch drop dead from fright?” 
asked McNeil, solicitously. 

Moffat glared at him savagely, his lips moving, 
but emitting no sound. 

“ Oh, please don’t mind,” urged his fair listener, 
her flushed cheeks betraying her interest. “He is so 
full of his fun. What did follow ? ” 

The story-teller swallowed something in his throat, 
his gaze still on his persecutor. “No, sir,” he contin- 
ued, hoarsely, “ them bucks jumped to their feet with 
the most awful yells I ever heard, and made a rush 
toward where I was standing. They was exactly in a 
line, and I let drive at that first buck, and blame me if 

[I2I] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


that slug did n’t go plum through three of ’em, and 
knock down the fourth. You can roast me alive if 
that ain’t a fact! The fifth one got away, but I roped 
the wounded fellow, and was a-sittin’ on him when 
the rest of the party got back to camp. Jim Healy 
was along, and he ’ll tell you the same story.” 

There was a breathless silence, during which 
McNeil spat meditatively out of the window. 

‘‘Save any — eh — locks of their hair?” he ques- 
tioned, anxiously. 

“ Oh, please don’t tell me anything about that ! ” 
interrupted Miss Spencer, nervously. “The whites 
don’t scalp, do they ? ” 

“Not generally, miss, but I — eh — didn’t just 
know what Mr. Moffat’s — eh — custom was.” 

The latter gentleman had his head craned out of 
the window once more, in an apparent determination 
to ignore all such frivolous remarks. Suddenly he 
pointed directly ahead. 

“There’s Glencaid now. Miss Spencer,” he said, 
cheerfully, glad enough of an opportunity to change 
the topic of conversation. “That’s the spire of the 
new Presbyterian church sticking up above the 
ridge.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! How glad I am to be here safe at 
last!” 

“How — eh — did you happen to — eh — recog- 
nize the church?” asked McNeil with evident admi- 
ration. “You — eh — can’t see it from the saloon.” 

Moffat disdained reply, and the lurching stage 
rolled rapidly down the valley, the mules now lashed 
[122] 


THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER 


into a wild gallop to the noisy accompaniment of the 
driver’s whip. 

The hoofs clattered across the narrow bridge, and, 
with a sudden swing, all came to a sharp stand, amid 
a cloud of dust before a naked yellow house. 

‘‘ Here ’s where you get out, miss,” announced the 
Jehu, leaning down from his seat to peer within, 
‘‘This yere is the Herndon shebang.” 

The gentlemen inside assisted Miss Spencer to 
descend in safety to the weed-bordered walk, where she 
stood shaking her ruffled plumage into shape, and 
giving directions regarding her luggage. Then the 
two gentlemen emerged, Moffat bearing a grip-case, 
a bandbox, and a basket, while McNeil supported a 
shawl-strap and a small trunk. Thus decorated they 
meekly followed her lead up the narrow path toward 
the front door. The latter opened suddenly, and 
Mrs. Herndon bounced forth with vociferous wel- 
come. 

“ Why, Phoebe Spencer, and have you really 
come ! I did n’t expect you ’d get along before next 
week. Oh, this seems too nice to see you again; 
almost as good as going home to Vermont. You 
must be completely tired out.” 

“ Dear Aunt Lydia ; of course I ’m glad to be 
here. But I ’m not in the least tired. I ’ve had such 
a delightful trip.” She glanced around smilingly upon 
her perspiring cavaliers. “ Oh, put those things down, 
gentlemen — anywhere there on the grass; they can be 
carried in later. It was so kind of you both.” 

“Hey, there!” sang out the driver, growing 

[123] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


impatient, “ if you two gents are aimin' to go down 
town with this outfit, you'd, better be pilin' in lively, 
fer I can't stay here all day." 

Moffat glanced furtively aside at McNeil, only to 
discover that individual quietly seated on the trunk. 
He promptly dropped his own grip. 

‘‘ Drive on with your butcher's cart," he called 
out spitefully. ‘‘ I reckon it 's no special honor to 
ride to town." 

The pleasantly smiling young woman glanced from 
one to the other, her eyes fairly dancing, as the lum- 
bering coach disappeared through the red dust. 

^‘How very nice of you to remain," she exclaimed. 
'‘Aunt Lydia, I am so anxious for you to meet my 
friends, Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil. They have 
been so thoughtful and entertaining all the way up the 
Bear Water, and they explained so many things that 
I did not understand." 

She swept impulsively down toward them, both 
hands extended, the bright glances of her eyes be- 
stowed impartially. 

“ I cannot invite you to come into the house now," 
she exclaimed, sweetly, “ for I am almost like a stranger 
here myself, but I do hope you will both of you call. I 
shall be so very lonely at first, and you are my earliest 
acquaintances. You will promise, won't you?" 

McNeil bowed, painfully clearing his throat, but 
Moffat succeeded in expressing his pleasure with a 
well-rounded sentence. 

“ I felt sure you would. But now I must really 
say good-bye for this time, and go in with Aunt Lydia. 

[•^ 4 ] 


THE ARRIVAL OF MISS SPENCER 


I know I must be getting horribly burned out here in 
this hot sun. I shall always be so grateful to you 
both.” 

The two radiant knights walked together toward 
the road, neither uttering a word. McNeil whistled 
carelessly, and Moffat gazed intently at the distant 
hills. Just beyond the gate, and without so much 
as glancing toward his companion, the latter turned 
and strode up one of the numerous diverging trails. 
McNeil halted and stared after him in surprise. 

“Ain’t you — eh — goin’ on down town?” 

“ I reckon not. Take a look at my mine first.” 

McNeil chuckled. “You — eh — better be careful 
goin* up that — eh — gully,” he volunteered, soberly, 
“ the — eh — ghosts of them four — eh — I njuns might 
— eh — haunt ye ! ” 

Moffat wheeled about as if he had been shot in 
the back. “ You blathering, mutton-headed cowherd !” 
he yelled, savagely. 

But McNeil was already nearly out of hearing. 


CHAPTER II 

Becoming Acquainted 

O NCE within the cool shadows of the living- 
room, Mrs. Herndon again bethought herself 
to kiss her niece in a fresh glow of welcome, 
while the latter sank into a convenient rocker and 
began enthusiastically expressing her unbounded en- 
joyment of the West, and of the impressions gath- 
ered during her journey. Suddenly the elder woman 
glanced about and exclaimed, laughingly, ‘‘ Why, I 
had completely forgotten. You have not yet met 
your room-mate. Come out here, Naida ; this is my 
niece, Phoebe Spencer.'* 

The girl thus addressed advanced, a slender, grace- 
ful figure dressed in white, and extended her hand 
shyly. Miss Spencer clasped it warmly, her eyes 
upon the flushed, winsome face. 

“ And is this Naida Gillis ! ’* she cried. ‘‘ I am so 
delighted that you are still here, and that we are to be 
together. Aunt Lydia has written so much about you 
that I feel as if we must have known each other for 
years. Why, how pretty you are ! ” 

Naida’s cheeks were burning, and her eyes fell, 
but she had never yet succeeded in conquering the 
blunt independence of her speech. ‘‘Nobody else ever 
says so," she said, uneasily. “ Perhaps it 's the light." 
Miss Spencer turned her about so as to face the 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 

window. “Well, you are,’' she announced, decisively. 
“I guess I know; you’ve got magnificent hair, and 
your eyes are perfectly wonderful. You just don’t 
fix yourself up right ; Aunt Lydia never did have any 
taste in such things, but I ’ll make a new girl out of 
you. Let ’s go upstairs ; I ’m simply dying to see ' 
our room, and get some of my dresses unpacked. 
They must look perfect frights by this time.” 

They came down perhaps an hour later, hand in 
hand, and chattering like old friends. The shades of 
early evening were already falling across the valley. 
Herndon had returned home from his day’s work, 
and had brought with him the Rev. Howard Wyn- 
koop for supper. Miss Spencer viewed the young 
man with approval, and immediately became more 
than usually vivacious in recounting the incidents of 
her long journey, together with her early impressions 
of the Western country. Mr. Wynkoop responded 
with an interest far from being assumed. 

“ I have found it all so strange, so unique, Mr. 
Wynkoop,” she explained. “ The country is like a 
new world to me, and the people do not seem at all 
like those of the East. They lead such a wild, 
untrammelled life. Everything about seems to exhale 
the spirit of romance ; don’t you find it so ? ” 

He smiled at her enthusiasm, his glance of undis- 
guised admiration on her face. “ I certainly recall 
some such earlier conception,” he admitted. “Those 
just arriving from the environment of an older civil- 
ization perceive merely the picturesque elements ; but 
my later experiences have been decidedly prosaic.” 

[>27] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“Why, Mr. Wynkoop! how could they be? 
Your work is heroic. I cannot conceive how any 
minister of the Cross, having within him any of the 
old apostolic fervor, can consent to spend his days 
amid the dreary commonplaces of those old, dead 
Eastern churches. You, nobly battling on the fron- 
tier, are the true modern Crusaders, the Knights of 
the Grail. Here you are ever in the very forefront 
of the battle against sin, associated with the Argo- 
nauts, impressing your faith upon the bold, virile 
spirits of the age. It is perfectly grand ! Why the 
very men I meet seem to yield me a broader concep- 
tion of life and duty ; they are so brave, so modest, so 
active. Is — is Mr. Moffat a member of your 
church ? ” 

The minister cleared his throat, his cheeks redden- 
ing. “Mr. Moffat? Ah, no; not exactly. Do you 
mean the mine-owner. Jack Moffat? ” 

“Yes, I think so ; he told me he owned a mine — 
the Golden Rule the name was ; the very choice in 
words would seem to indicate his religious nature. 
He 's such a pleasant, intelligent man. There is a 
look in his eyes as though he sorrowed over some- 
thing. I was in hopes you knew what it was, and I 
am very sure he would welcome your ministrations. 
You have the only church in Glencaid, I understand, 
and I wonder greatly he has never joined you. But 
perhaps he may be prejudiced against your denomi- 
nation. There is so much narrowness in religion. 
Now, I am an Episcopalian myself, but I do not 
mean to permit that to interfere in any way with my 
[128] 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 

church work out here. I wonder if Mr. Moffat can 
be an Episcopalian. If he is, I am just going to 
show him that it is clearly his duty to assist in any 
Christian service. Is n’t that the true, liberal. Western 
spirit, Mr. Wynkoop ? ” 

“ It most assuredly should be,” said the young 
pastor. 

“ I left every prejudice east of the Missouri,” she 
declared, laughingly, “ every one, social and reli- 
gious. I ’m going to be a true Westerner, from the 
top of my head to the toe of my shoe. Is Mr. 
McNeil in your church ? ” 

The minister hesitated. ‘‘ I really do not recall 
the name,” he confessed at last, reluctantly. I 
scarcely think I can have ever met the gentleman.” 

Oh, you ought to ; he is so intensely original, 
and his face is full of character. He reminds me of 
some old paladin of the Middle Ages. You would 
be interested in him at once. He is the foreman of 
the ‘ Bar V’ ranch, somewhere near here.” 

‘‘Do you mean Billy McNeil, over on Sinsiniwa 
Creek P ” broke in Herndon. 

“ I think quite likely, uncle ; would n’t he make 
a splendid addition to Mr, Wynkoop’s church?” 

Herndon choked, his entire body shaking with 
ill-suppressed enjoyment. “ I should imagine yes,” 
he admitted finally. “Billy McNeil — oh. Lord! 
There ’s certainly a fine opening for you to do some 
missionary work, Phoebe.” 

“Well, and I ’m going to,” announced the young 
lady, firmly. “ I guess I can read men’s characters, 
[129] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


and I know all Mr. McNeil needs is to have some 
one show an interest in him. Have you a large 
church, Mr. Wynkoop ? ’* 

“ Not large if judged from an Eastern standpoint,*’ 
he confessed, with some regret. Our present mem- 
bership is composed of eight women and three men, 
but the congregational attendance is quite good, and 
constantly increasing.” 

‘‘ Only eight women and three men ! ” breath- 
lessly. ‘‘ And you have been laboring upon this field 
for five years ! How could it be so small ? ” 

Wynkoop pushed back his chair, anxious to re- 
deem himself in the estimation of this fair stranger. 

“ Miss Spencer,” he explained, ‘‘ it is perhaps 
hardly strange that you should misapprehend the 
peculiar conditions under which religious labor is con- 
ducted in the West. You will undoubtedly under- 
stand all this better presently. My parish comprises 
this entire mining region, and I am upon horseback 
among the foothills and up in the ranges for fully a 
third of my time. The spirit of the mining popula- 
tion, as well as of the cattlemen, while not actually 
hostile, is one of indifference to religious thought. 
They care nothing whatever for it in the abstract, and 
have no use for any minister, unless it may be to 
marry their children or bury their dead. I am hence 
obliged to meet with them merely as man to man, 
and thus slowly win their confidence before I dare 
even approach a religious topic. For three long 
years I worked here without even a church organi- 
zation or a building; and apparently without the 

[•30] 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 

faintest encouragement. Now that we have a nucleus 
gathered, a comfortable building erected and paid for, 
with an increasing congregation, I begin to feel that 
those seemingly barren five years were not without 
spiritual value.'' 

She quickly extended her hands. Oh, it is so 
heroic, so self-sacrificing ! No doubt I was hasty and 
wrong. But I have always been accustomed to so 
much larger churches. I am going to help you, Mr. 
Wynkoop, in every way I possibly can — I shall cer- 
tainly speak to both Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil the 
very first opportunity. I feel almost sure that they 
will join." 

The unavoidable exigencies of a choir practice 
compelled Mr. Wynkoop to retire early, nor was it 
yet late when the more intimate family circle also 
dissolved, and the two girls discovered themselves 
alone. Naida drew down the shades and lit the lamp. 
Miss Spencer slowly divested herself of her outer 
dress, replacing it with a light wrapper, encased her 
feet snugly in comfortable slippers, and proceeded to 
let down her flossy hair in gleaming waves across her 
shoulders. Naida's dark eyes bespoke plainly her 
admiration, and Miss Spencer shook back her hair 
somewhat coquettishly. 

‘‘ Do you think I look nice ? " she questioned, 
smilingly. 

^^You bet I do. Your hair is just beautiful. Miss 
Spencer." 

The other permitted the soft strands to slip slowly 
between her white fingers. ‘‘You should never say 

[131] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


^you bet/ Naida. Such language is not at all lady- 
like. I am going to call you Naida, and you must 
call me Phoebe. People use their given names almost 
entirely out here in the West, don’t they?” 

“ I never have had much training in being a lady,” 
the young girl explained, reddening, but I can learn. 
Yes, I reckon they do mostly use the first names 
out here.” 

‘‘ Please don’t say ‘ I reckon,’ either ; it has such a 
vulgar sound. What is his given name ? ” 

‘‘Whose?” 

“ Why, I was thinking of Mr. Wynkoop.” 

“ Howard ; I saw it written in some books he 
loaned me. But the people here never address him in 
that way.” 

“No, I suppose not, only I thought I should like 
to know what it was.” 

There was a considerable pause ; then the speaker 
asked, calmly, “ Is he married ? ” 

“Mr. Wynkoop? Why, of course not; he 
does n’t care for women in that way at all.” 

Miss Spencer bound her hair carefully with a 
bright ribbon. “ Maybe he might, though, some time. 
All men do.” 

She sat down in the low rocker, her feet com- 
fortably crossed. “Do you know, Naida dear, it is 
simply wonderful to me just to remember what 
you have been through, and it was so beautifully 
romantic — everybody killed except you and that 
man, and then he saved your life. It’s such a pity 
he was so miserable a creature.” 

['32] 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 


“He was n’t ! ” Naida exclaimed, in sudden, indig- 
nant passion. ‘‘ He was perfectly splendid.” 

“Aunt Lydia did n’t think so. She wrote he was a 
common gambler, — a low, rough man.” 

“Well, he did gamble; nearly everybody does out 
here. And sometimes I suppose he had to fight, but 
he was n’t truly bad.” 

Miss Spencer’s eyes evinced a growing interest. 

“Was he real nice-looking?” she asked. 

Naida’s voice faltered. “Ye — es,” she said. “I 
thought so. He — he looked like he was a man.” 

“ How old are you, Naida ? ” 

“ Nearly eighteen.” 

Miss Spencer leaned impulsively forward, and 
clasped the other’s hands, her whole soul responding 
to this suggestion of a possible romance, a vision of 
blighted hearts. “Why, it is perfectly delightful,” 
she exclaimed. “ I had no idea it was so serious, and 
really I don’t in the least blame you. You love him, 
don’t you, Naida?” 

The girl flashed a shy look into the beaming, 
inquisitive face. “ I don’t know,” she confessed, 
soberly. “ I have not even seen him for such a long 
time; but — but, I guess, he is more to me than any 
one else — ” 

“Not seen him? Do you mean to say Mr. 
Hampton is not here in Glencaid? Why, I am so 
sorry ; I was hoping to meet him.” 

“He went away the same night I came here to 
live.” 

“ And you never even hear from him ? ” 

[133] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Naida hesitated, but the frankly displayed interest 
of the other won her complete girlish confidence. 
“ Not directly , but Mr. Herndon receives money 
from him for me. He does n’t let your aunt know 
anything about it, because she got angry and refused 
to accept any pay from him. He is somewhere over 
yonder in the Black Range.” 

Miss Spencer shook back her hair with a merry 
laugh, and clasped her hands. ‘‘ Why, it is just the 
most delightful situation I ever heard about. He 
is just certain to come back after you, Naida. I 
would n’t miss being here for anything.” 

They were still sitting there, when the notes of a 
softly touched guitar stole in through the open 
window. Both glanced about in surprise, but Miss 
Spencer was first to recover speech. 

“ A serenade ! Did you ever ! ” she whispered. 
“ Do you suppose it can be he ? ” She extinguished 
the lamp and knelt upon the floor, peering eagerly 
forth into the brilliant moonlight. Why, Naida, 
what do you think? It’s Mr. MoflTat. How 
beautifully he plays ! ” 

Naida, her face pressed against the other win- 
dow, gave vent to a single note of half-suppressed 
laughter. “ There ’s going to be something hap- 
pening,” she exclaimed. ‘‘ Oh, Miss Spencer, come 
here quick — some one is going to turn on the 
hydraulic.” 

Miss Spencer knelt beside her. Moffat was still 
plainly visible, his pale face upturned in the moon- 
light, his long silky mustaches slightly stirred by the 

[134] 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 

soft air, his fingers touching the strings ; but back in 
the shadows of the bushes was seen another figure, 
apparently engaged upon some task with feverish 
eagerness. To Miss Spencer all was mystery. 

‘‘ What is it ? ” she anxiously questioned. 

‘‘ The hydraulic,’' whispered the other. “ There ’s 
a big lake up in the hills, and they Ve piped the water 
down here. It ’s got a force like a cannon, and that 
fellow — I don’t know whether it is Herndon or not 
— is screwing on the hose connection. I bet your 
Mr. Moffat gets a shock ! ” 

It ’s a perfect shame, an outrage ! I ’m going to 
tell him.” 

Naida caught her sleeve firmly, her eyes full of 
laughter. Oh, please don’t. Miss Spencer. It will 
be such fun. Let ’s see where it hits him ! ” 

For one single instant the lady yielded, and in it 
all opportunity for warning fled. There was a sharp 
sizzling, which caused Moffat to suspend his serenade; 
then something struck him, — it must have been fairly 
in the middle, for he shut up like a jack-knife, and 
went crashing backwards with an agonized howl. 
There was a gleam of shining water, something black 
squirming among the weeds, a yell, a volley of half- 
choked profanity, and a fleeing figure, apparently pur- 
sued by a huge snake. Naida shook with laughter, 
clinging with both hands to the sill, but Miss Spencer 
was plainly shocked. 

‘‘Oh, did you hear what — what he said?” she 
asked. “ Was n’t it awful ? ” 

The younger nodded, unable as yet to command 

[135] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


her voice. — I don't believe he is an Episcopa- 
lian ; do you ? " 

“ I don't know. I imagine that might have made 
even a Methodist swear." 

The puckers began to show about the disapprov- 
ing mouth, under the contagion of the other's merri- 
ment. ‘‘Wasn't it perfectly ridiculous? But he did 
play beautifully, and it was so very nice of him to 
come my first night here. Do you suppose that was 
Mr. Herndon ? " 

Naida shook her head doubtfully. “ He looked 
taller, but I could n't really tell. He 's gone now, 
and the water is turned off." 

They lit the lamp once more, discussing the scene 
just witnessed, while Miss Spencer, standing before 
the narrow mirror, prepared her hair for the night. 
Suddenly some object struck the lowered window 
shade and dropped upon the floor. Naida picked it up. 

“A letter," she announced, “for Miss Phoebe 
Spencer." 

“ For me ? What can it be ? Why, Naida, it is 
poetry! Listen: 

Sweetest flower from off the Eastern hills. 

So lily-like and fair; 

Your very presence stirs and thrills 
Our buoyant Western air; 

The plains grow lovelier in their span. 

The skies above more blue. 

While the heart of Nature and of man 
Beats quick response for you. 

“Oh, isn't that simply beautiful? And it is 
signed ‘Willie' — why, that must be Mr. McNeil." 

[136] 


BECOMING ACQUAINTED 


“ I reckon he copied it out of some book/' said 
Naida. 

“Oh, I know he didn't. It possesses such a 
touch of originality. And his eyes, Naida! They 
have that deep poetical glow!" 

The light was finally extinguished; the silvery 
moonlight streamed across the foot of the bed; and 
the regular breathing of the girls evidenced slumber. 


[137] 


CHAPTER III 
Under Orders 

M any an unexpected event has resulted from the 
formal, concise orders issued by the War 
Department. Cupid in the disguise of Mars 
has thus frequently toyed with the fate of men, send- 
ing many a gallant soldier forward, all unsuspecting, 
into a battle of the heart. 

It was no pleasant assignment to duty which 
greeted First Lieutenant Donald Brant, commanding 
Troop N, Seventh Cavalry, when that regiment came 
once more within the environs of civilization, from its 
summer exercises in the field. Bethune had developed 
into a somewhat important post, socially as well as 
from a strictly military standpoint, and numerous 
indeed were the attractions offered there to any young 
officer whose duty called him to serve the colors on 
those bleak Dakota prairies. Brant frowned at the 
innocent words, reading them over again with gloomy 
eyes and an exclamation of unmitigated disgust, yet 
there was no escaping their plain meaning. Trouble 
was undoubtedly brewing among the Sioux, trouble in 
which the Cheyennes, and probably others also, were 
becoming involved. Every soldier patrolling that long 
northern border recognized the approach of some dire 
development, some early coup of savagery. Restless- 
ness pervaded the Indian country; recalcitrant bands 


UNDER ORDERS 


roamed the “bad lands”; dissatisfied young warriors 
disappeared from the reservation limits and failed to 
return; while friendly scouts told strange tales of weird 
dances amid the brown Dakota hills. Uneasiness, the 
spirit of suspected peril, hung like a pall over the 
plains ; yet none could safely predict where the blow 
might first descend. 

Brant was not blind to all this, nor to the 
necessity of having in readiness selected bodies of 
seasoned troops, yet it was not in soldier nature to 
refrain from grumbling when the earliest detail chanced 
to fall to him. But orders were orders in that country, 
and although he crushed the innocent paper passion- 
ately beneath his heel, five hours later he was in saddle, 
riding steadily westward, his depleted troop of horse- 
men clattering at his heels. Up the valley of the 
Bear Water, slightly above Glencaid, — far enough 
beyond the saloon radius to protect his men from 
possible corruption, yet within easy reach of the mili- 
tary telegraph, — they made camp in the early morn- 
ing upon a wooded terrace overlooking the stage road, 
and settled quietly down as one of those numerous 
posts with which the army chiefs sought to hem in the 
dissatisfied redmen, and learn early the extent of their 
hostile plans. 

Brant was now in a humor considerably happier 
than when he first rode forth from Bethune. A natural 
soldier, sincerely ambitious in his profession, anything 
approximating to active service instantly aroused his 
interest, while his mind was ever inclined to respond 
with enthusiasm to the fascination of the plains and 

[139] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


the hills across which their march had extended. 
Somewhere along that journey he had dropped his 
earlier burden of regret, and the spirit of the service 
had left him cheerfully hopeful of some stern soldierly 
work. He watched the men of his troop while with 
quip and song they made comfortable camp ; he spoke 
a few brief words of instruction to the grave-faced first 
sergeant, and then strolled slowly up the valley, his 
own affairs soon completely forgotten in the beauty of 
near-by hills beneath the golden glory of the morning 
sun. Once he paused and looked back upon ugly 
Glencaid, dingy and forlorn even at that distance; 
then he crossed the narrow stream by means of a con- 
venient log, and clambered up the somewhat steep 
bank. A heavy fringe of low bushes clung close along 
the edge of the summit, but a plainly defined path led 
among their intricacies. He pressed his way through, 
coming into a glade where sunshine flickered through 
the overarching branches of great trees, and the grass 
was green and short, like that of a well-kept lawn. 

As Brant emerged from the underbrush he sud- 
denly beheld a fair vision of young womanhood rest- 
ing on the grassy bank just before him. She was 
partially reclining, as if startled by his unannounced 
approach, her face turned toward him, one hand grasp- 
ing an open book, the other shading her eyes from 
the glare of the sun. Something in the graceful poise, 
the piquant, uplifted face, the dark gloss of heavy hair, 
and the unfrightened gaze held him speechless until 
the picture had been impressed forever upon his mem- 
ory. He beheld a girl on the verge of womanhood, 
[140] 


UNDER ORDERS 


fair of skin, the red glow of health flushing her cheeks, 
the lips parted in surprise, the sleeve fallen back from 
one white, rounded arm, the eyes honest, sincere, 
mysterious. She recognized him with a glance, and 
her lips closed as she remembered how and when they 
had met before. But there was no answering recollec- 
tion within his eyes, only admiration — nothing clung 
about this Naiad to remind him of a neglected waif of 
the garrison. She read all this in his face, and the 
lines about her mouth changed quickly into a slightly 
quizzical smile, her eyes brightening. 

‘‘You should at least have knocked, sir,” she 
ventured, sitting up on the grassy bank, the better to 
confront him, “ before intruding thus uninvited.” 

He lifted his somewhat dingy scouting hat and 
bowed humbly. 

“ I perceived no door giving warning that I ap- 
proached such presence, and the first shock of sur- 
prise was perhaps as great to me as to you. Yet, now 
that I have blundered thus far, I beseech that I be 
permitted to venture upon yet another step.” 

She sat looking at him, a trim, soldierly figure, his 
face young and pleasant to gaze upon, and her dark 
eyes sensibly softened. 

“ What step ? ” 

“To tarry for a moment beside the divinity of this 
wilderness.” 

She laughed with open frankness, her white teeth 
sparkling behind the red, parted lips. 

“ Perhaps you may, if you will first consent to be 
sensible,” she said, with returning gravity; “and I 

[141] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


reserve the right to turn you away whenever you begin 
to talk or act foolish. If you accept these conditions, 
you may sit down.’* 

He seated himself upon the soft grass ledge, 
retaining the hat in his hands. “You must be an odd 
sort of a girl,” he commented, soberly, “ not to wel- 
come an honest expression of admiration.” 

“ Oh, was that it ? Then I duly bow my acknowl- 
edgment. I took your words for one of those silly 
compliments by which men believe they honor 
women.” 

He glanced curiously aside at her half-averted 
face. “At first sight I had supposed you scarcely 
more than a mere girl, but now you speak like a 
woman wearied of the world, utterly condemning all 
complimentary phrases.” 

“ Indeed, no; not if they be sincerely expressed as 
between man and man.” 

“ How is it as between man and woman ? ” 

“ Men generally address women as you started to 
address me, as if there existed no common ground of 
serious thought between them. They condescend, 
they flatter, they indulge in fulsome compliment, they 
whisper soft nonsense which they would be sincerely 
ashamed to utter in the presence of their own sex, 
they act as if they were amusing babies, rather than 
conversing with intelligent human beings. Their own 
notion seems to be to shake the rattle-box, and 
awaken a laugh. I am not a baby, nor am I seeking 
amusement.” 

He glanced curiously at her book. “And yet 

[•42] 


UNDER ORDERS 


you condescend to read love stories,” he said, smil- 
ing. “ I expected to discover a treatise on philos- 
ophy.” 

“ I read whatever I chance to get my hands on, 
here in Glencaid,” she retorted, ‘‘just as I converse 
with whoever comes along. I am hopeful of some 
day discovering a rare gem hidden in the midst of 
the trash. I am yet young.” 

“You are indeed young,” he said, quietly, “and 
with some of life’s lessons still to learn. One is that 
frankness is not necessarily flippancy, nor honesty 
harshness. Beyond doubt much of what you said 
regarding ordinary social conversation is true, * yet 
the man is no more to be blamed than the woman. 
Both seek to be entertaining, and are to be praised 
for the effort rather than censured. A stranger 
cannot instinctively know the likes and dislikes of 
one he has just met ; he can feel his way only by 
commonplaces. However, if you will offer me a 
topic worthy the occasion, in either philosophy, 
science, or literature, I will endeavor to feed your 
mind.” 

She uplifted her innocent eyes demurely to his 
face. “You are so kind. I am deeply interested 
just now in the Japanese conception of the transmi- 
gration of souls.” 

“ How extremely fortunate ! It chances to be my 
favorite theme, but my mental processes are peculiar, 
and you must permit me to work up toward it some- 
what gradually. For instance, as a question leading 
that way, how, in the incarnation of this world, do 

[143] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


you manage to exist in such a hole of a place ? — that 
is, provided you really reside here.’* 

‘‘Why, I consider this a most delightful nook.” 

‘‘ My reference was to Glencaid.” 

Oh ! Why, I live from within, not without. 
Mind and heart, not environment, make life, and my 
time is occupied most congenially. I am being faith- 
fully nurtured on the Presbyterian catechism, and also 
trained in the graces of earthly society. These alter- 
nate, thus preparing me for whatever may happen in 
this world or the next.” 

His face pictured bewilderment, but also a determi- 
nation to persevere. ‘‘An interesting combination, I 
admit. But from your appearance this cannot always 
have been your home ? ” 

“ Oh, thank you. I believe not always ; but I won- 
der at your being able to discern my superiority to 
these surroundings. And do you know your ques- 
tioning is becoming quite personal? Does that yield 
me an equal privilege ? ” 

He bowed, perhaps relieved at thus permitting her 
to assume the initiative, and rested lazily back upon 
the grass, his eyes intently studying her face. 

“ 1 suppose from your clothes you must be a 
soldier. What is that figure 7 on your hat for?” 

“ The number of my regiment, the Seventh Cav- 
alry.” 

Her glance was a bit disdainful as she coolly 
surveyed him from head to foot. “ I should im- 
agine that a strong, capable-appearing fellow like you 
might do much better than that. There is so much 

[144] 


UNDER ORDERS 


work in the world worth doing, and so much better 
pay.” 

“ What do you mean ? Is n't a soldier’s life a 
worthy one ? ” 

Oh, yes, of course, in a way. We have to have 
soldiers, 1 suppose ; but if 1 were a man I ’d hate to 
waste all my life tramping around at sixteen dollars a 
month.” 

He smothered what sounded like a rough ejacula- 
tion, gazing into her demure eyes as if he strongly 
suspected a joke hid in their depths. ‘‘ Do — do you 
mistake me for an enlisted man ? ” 

Oh, I did n’t know ; you said you were a soldier, 
and that ’s what I always heard they got. I am so 
glad if they give you more. I was only going to say 
that I believed I could get you a good place in 
McCarthy’s store if you wanted it. He pays sixty- 
five dollars, and his clerk has just left.” 

Brant stared at her with open mouth, totally 
unable for the moment to decide whether or not that 
innocent, sympathetic face masked mischief. Before 
he succeeded in regaining confidence and speech, she 
had risen to her feet, holding back her skirt with one 
hand. 

“ Really, 1 must go,” she announced calmly, draw- 
ing back toward the slight opening between the 
bushes. ‘‘No doubt you have done fully as well as 
you could, considering your position in life; but 
this has proved another disappointment. You have 
fallen, far, very far, below my ideal. Good-bye.” 

He sprang instantly erect, his cheeks flushed. 

[H5] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ Please don’t go without a further word. We seem 
predestined to misunderstand. I am even willing to 
confess myself a fool in the hope of some time being 
able to convince you otherwise. You have not even 
told me that you live here; nor do I know your 
name.” 

She shook her head positively, repressed merri- 
ment darkening her eyes and wrinkling the corners 
of her mouth. “It would be highly improper to 
introduce myself to a stranger — we Presbyterians 
never do that.” 

“ But do you feel no curiosity as to who I may 
be?” 

“ Why, not in the least ; the thought is ridiculous. 
How very conceited you must be to imagine such a 
thing! ” 

He was not a man easily daunted, nor did he re- 
call any previous embarrassment in the presence of a 
young woman. But now he confronted something 
utterly unique ; those quiet eyes seemed to look straight 
through him. His voice faltered sadly, yet succeeded 
in asking: “ Are we, then, never to meet again? Am 
I to understand this to be your wish? ” 

She laughed. “ Really, sir, I am not aware that 
I have the slightest desire in the matter. I have 
given it no thought, but I presume the possibility of 
our meeting again depends largely upon yourself, and 
the sort of society you keep. Surely you cannot 
expect that I would seek such an opportunity ? ” 

He bowed humbly. “You mistake my pur- 
pose. I merely meant to ask if there was not some 
[146] 


UNDER ORDERS 


possibility of our again coming together socially — in 
the presence of mutual friends.” 

‘‘Oh, I scarcely think so; I do not remember 
ever having met any soldiers at the social functions 
here — excepting officers. We are extremely exclusive 
in Glencaid,” she dropped him a mocking courtesy, 
“and I have always moved in the most exclusive set.” 

Piqued by her tantalizing manner, he asked, 
“ What particular social functions are about to occur 
that may possibly open a passage into your guarded 
presence?” 

She seemed immersed in thought, her face turned 
partially aside. “Unfortunately, I have not my list 
of engagements here,” and she glanced about at him 
shyly. “ I can recall only one at present, and 1 am 
not even certain — that is, I do not promise — to 
attend that. However, I may do so. The Miners’ 
Bachelor Club gives a reception and ball to-morrow 
evening in honor of the new schoolmistress.” 

“What is her name?” with responsive eagerness. 

She hesitated, as if doubtful of the strict propriety 
of mentioning it to a stranger. 

“Miss Phoebe Spencer,” she said, her eyes cast 
demurely down. 

•“Ah!” he exclaimed, in open triumph; “and have 
I, then, at last made fair capture of your secret ? You 
are Miss Phoebe Spencer.” 

She drew back still farther within the recesses of 
the bushes, at his single victorious step forward. 

“ I ? Why certainly not. I am merely Miss 
Spencer’s ‘star’ pupil, so you may easily judge 
[H7] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


something of what her superior attainments must 
necessarily be. But I am really going now, and I 
sincerely trust you will be able to secure a ticket for 
to-morrow night; for if you once meet this Miss 
Spencer you will never yield another single thought to 
me, Mr. — Mr. — ” her eyes dancing with laughter — 
“First Lieutenant Donald Brant.” 


[148] 


CHAPTER IV 
Silent Murphy 

B ryant sprang forward, all doubt regarding this 
young woman instantly dissipated by those final 
words of mischievous mockery. She had been 
playing with him as unconcernedly as if he were a mere 
toy sent for her amusement, and his pride was stung. 

But pursuit proved useless. Like a phantom she 
had slipped away amid the underbrush, leaving him to 
flounder blindly in the labyrinth. Once she laughed 
outright, a clear burst of girlish merriment ringing 
through the silence, and he leaped desperately forward, 
hoping to intercept her flight. His incautious foot 
slipped along the steep edge of the shelving bank, and 
he went down, half stumbling, half sliding, until he 
came to a sudden pause on the brink of the little 
stream. The chase was ended, and he sat up, con- 
fused for the moment, and half questioning the evi- 
dence of his own eyes. 

A small tent, dirty and patched, stood with its back 
against the slope of earth down which he had plunged. 
Its flap flung aside revealed within a pile of disarranged 
blankets, together with some scattered articles of wear- 
ing apparel, while just before the opening, his back 
pressed against the supporting pole, an inverted pipe 
between his yellow, irregular teeth, sat a hideous look- 
ing man. He was a withered, dried-up fellow, whose 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


age was not to be guessed, having a skin as yellow as 
parchment, drawn in tight to the bones like that of a 
mummy, his eyes deep sunken like wells, and his head 
totally devoid of hair, although about his lean throat 
there was a copious fringe of iron-gray beard, un- 
trimmed and scraggy. Down the entire side of 
one cheek ran a livid scar, while his nose was turned 
awry. 

He sat staring at the newcomer, unwinking, his facial 
expression devoid of interest, but his fingers opening 
and closing in apparent nervousness. Twice his lips 
opened, but nothing except a peculiar gurgling sound 
issued from the throat, and Brant, who by this 
time had attained his feet and his self-possession, 
ventured to address him. 

“ Nice quiet spot for a camp,” he remarked, pleas- 
antly, “ but a bad place for a tumble.” 

The sunken eyes expressed nothing, but the throat 
gurgled again painfully, and finally the parted lips 
dropped a detached word or two. “ Blame — pretty 
girl' — that.” 

The lieutenant wondered how much of their con- 
versation this old mummy had overheard, but he hesi- 
tated to question him. One inquiry, however, sprang 
to his surprised lips. “ Do you know her? ” 

Damn sight — better — than any one around here 
— know her — real name.” 

Brant stared incredulously. ‘‘ Do you mean to in- 
sinuate that that young woman is living in this commu- 
nity under an assumed one ? Why, she is scarcely 
more than a child ! What do you mean, man ? ” 

[•50] 


SILENT MURPHY 


The soldier’s hat still rested on the grass where it 
had fallen, its military insignia hidden. 

“ I guess — I know — what I — know, ” the fellow 
muttered. “ What ’s — your — regiment ? ” 

‘‘ Seventh Cavalry.” 

The man stiffened up as if an electric shock had 
swept through his limp frame. “ The hell ! — and — 
did — she — call you — Brant ? ” 

The young officer’s face exhibited his disgust. 
Beyond doubt that sequestered nook was a favorite 
lounging spot for the girl, and this disreputable 
creature had been watching her for some sinister 
purpose. 

‘‘ So you have been eavesdropping, have you ? ” 
said Brant, gravely. “ And now you want to try a 
turn at defaming a woman ? Well, you have come to 
a poor market for the sale of such goods. I am half 
inclined to throw you bodily into the creek. I believe 
you are nothing but a common liar, but I ’ll give you 
one chance — you say you know her real name. 
What is it? ” 

The eyes of the mummy had become spiteful. 
‘‘It’s — none of — your damn — business. I’m — 
not under — your orders.” 

“ Under my orders ! Of course not ; but what do 
you mean by that ? Who and what are you ? ” 

The fellow stood up, slightly hump-backed but 
broad of shoulder, his arms long, his legs short and 
somewhat bowed, his chin protruding impudently, and 
Brant noticed an oddly shaped black scar, as if burned 
there by powder, on the back of his right hand. 

[■sO 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘Who — am I?’' he said, angrily. “Em — 
Silent — Murphy.'’ 

An expression of bewilderment swept across the 
lieutenant’s face. “ Silent Murphy ! Do you claim 
to be Custer’s scout?” 

The fellow nodded. “ Heard — of me — maybe ? ” 

Brant stood staring at him, his mind occupied with 
vague garrison rumors connected with this odd per- 
sonality. The name had long been a familiar one, and 
he had often had the man pictured out before him, 
just such a wizened face and hunched-up figure, half 
crazed, at times malicious, yet keen and absolutely 
devoid of fear ; acknowledged as the best scout in all 
the Indian country, a daring rider, an incomparable 
trailer, tireless, patient, and as tricky and treacherous 
as the wily savages he was employed to spy upon. 
There could remain no reasonable doubt of his 
identity, but what was he doing there ? What 
purpose underlay his insinuations against that young 
girl? If this was indeed Silent Murphy, he assuredly 
had some object in being there, and however hastily 
he may have spoken, it was not altogether probable 
that he deliberately lied. All this flashed across his 
mind in that single instant of hesitation. 

“Yes, I’ve heard of you,” — and his crisp tone 
instinctively became that of terse military command, — 
“although we have never met, for I have been upon 
detached service ever since my assignment to the regi- 
ment. I have a troop in camp below,” he pointed 
down the stream, “and am in command here.” 

The scout nodded carelessly. 

[*S2] 


SILENT MURPHY 


“Why did you not come down there, and report 
your presence in this neighborhood to me ? ” 

Murphy grinned unpleasantly. “ Rather be — 
alone — no report — been over — Black Range — tele- 
graphed — wait orders.” 

“Do you mean you are in direct communication 
with headquarters, with Custer ? ” 

The man answered, with a wide sweep of his long 
arm toward the northwest. “Coin* to — be hell — out 
there — damn soon.” 

“How.^ Are things developing into a truly 
serious affair — a real campaign ? ” 

“Every buck — in the — Sioux nation — is makin' 
— ferthe — bad lands,” and he laughed noiselessly, his 
nervous fingers gesticulating. “I — guess that — 
means — business.” 

Brant hesitated. Should he attempt to learn 
more about the young girl? Instinctively he appreci- 
ated the futility of endeavoring to extract information 
from Murphy, and he experienced a degree of shame 
at thus seeking to penetrate her secret. Besides, it 
was none of his affair, and if ever it should chance to 
become so, surely there were more respectable means 
by which he could obtain information. He glanced 
about, seeking some way of recrossing the stream. 

“If you require any new equipment,” he said 
tersely, “we can probably supply you at the camp. 
How do you manage to get across here?” 

Murphy, walking stiffly, led the way down the 
steep slope, and silently pointed out a log bridging 
the narrow stream. He stood watching while the 

[153] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


officer picked his steps across, but made no responsive 
motion when the other waved his hand from the 
opposite shore, his sallow face looking grim and un- 
pleasant. 

‘‘Damn — the luck!” he grumbled, shambling 
back up the bank. “ It don’t — look — right. Three 
of ’em — all here — at once — in this — cussed hole. 
Seems if — this yere world — ought ter be — big 
’nough — ter keep ’em apart; — but hell — it ain’t. 
Might make — some trouble — if them — people — 
ever git — their heads — tergether talkin’. Hell of a 
note — if the boy — falls in love with — her. Likely 
to do it — too. Curse such — fool luck. Maybe 
I — better talk — it over again — with Red — he’s in 
it — damn near — as deep as — I am.” And he sank 
down again in his old position before the tent, con- 
tinuing to mutter, his chin sunk into his chest, his 
whole appearance that of deep dejection, perhaps of 
dread. 

The young officer marched down the road, his 
heedless feet kicking up the red dust in clouds, his 
mind busied with the peculiar happenings of the morn- 
ing, and that prospect for early active service hinted 
at in the brief utterances of the old. scout. Brant was 
a thorough soldier, born into the service and deeply 
enamored of its dangers ; yet beyond this he remained 
a man, a young man, swayed by those emotions which 
when at full tide sweep aside all else appertaining 
to life. 

Just now the vision of that tantalizing girl con- 
tinued to haunt his memory, and would not down 

[154] 


SI L. ENT MURPHY 


even to the glorious hope of a coming campaign. 
The mystery surrounding her, her reticence, the mut- 
tered insinuation dropping from the unguarded lips 
of Murphy, merely served to render her the more 
attractive, while her own naive witchery of manner, 
and her seemingly unconscious coquetry, had wound 
about him a magic spell, the full power of which as 
yet remained but dimly appreciated. His mind lin- 
gered longingly upon the marvel of the dark eyes, 
while the cheery sound of that last rippling outburst 
of laughter reechoed in his ears like music. 

His had been a lonely life since leaving West 
Point and joining his regiment — a life passed largely 
among rough men and upon the desolate plains. For 
months at a time he had known nothing of refine- 
ment, nor enjoyed social intercourse with the opposite 
sex ; life had thus grown as barren and bleak as those 
desert wastes across which he rode at the command of 
his superiors. For years the routine of his military 
duties had held him prisoner, crushing out the dreams 
of youth. Yet, beneath his mask of impassibility, the 
heart continued to beat with fierce desire, biding the 
time when it should enjoy its own sweet way. Per- 
haps that hour had already dawned; certainly some- 
thing new, something inspiring, had now come to 
awaken an interest unfelt before, and leave him idly 
dreaming of shadowed eyes and flushed, rounded 
cheeks. 

He was in this mood when he overtook the Rev. 
Howard Wynkoop and marked the thoughtful look 
upon his pale face. 


[155] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“I called at your camp/’ explained Wynkoop, 
after the first words of greeting had been exchanged, 
‘‘ as soon as I learned you were here in command, but 
only to discover your absence. The sergeant, how- 
ever, was very courteous, and assured me there would 
be no difficulty in arranging a religious service for the 
men, unless sudden orders should arrive. No doubt 
I may rely on your cooperation.” 

Most certainly,” was the cordial response, “ and 
I shall also permit those desiring to attend your regu- 
lar Sunday services so long as we are stationed here. 
How is your work prospering? ” 

“There is much to encourage me, but spiritual 
progress is slow, and there are times when my faith 
falters and I feel unworthy of the service in which I 
am engaged. Doubtless this is true of all labor, yet 
the minister is particularly susceptible to these influ- 
ences surrounding him.” 

“A mining camp is so intensely material seven 
days of the week that it must present a difficult field 
for the awakening of any religious sentiment,” con- 
fessed Brant sympathetically, feeling not a little inter- 
ested in the clear-cut, intellectual countenance of the 
other. “I have often wondered how you consented 
to bury your talents in such a place.” 

The other smiled, but with a trace of sadness in 
his eyes. “ I firmly believe that every /ninister 
should devote a portion of his life to the doing of 
such a work as this. It is both a religious and a 
patriotic duty, and there is a rare joy connected 
with it.” 

[156] 


SILENT MURPHY 


“Yet it was surely not joy I saw pictured within 
your face when we met; you were certainly troubled 
over some problem.” 

Wynkoop glanced up quickly, a slight flush ris- 
ing in his pale cheeks. “ Perplexing questions 
which must be decided off-hand are constantly arising. 
I have no one near to whom I can turn for advice in 
unusual situations, and just now I scarcely know what 
action to take regarding certain applications for church 
membership.” 

Brant laughed. “ I hardly consider myself a com- 
petent adviser in matters of church polity,” he admit- 
ted, “yet I have always been informed that all so 
desiring are to be made welcome in religious fellow- 
ship.” 

“ Theoretically, yes.” And the minister stopped 
still in the road, facing his companion. “ But this 
special case presents certain peculiarities. The appli- 
cants, as I learn from others, are not leading lives 
above reproach. So far as I know, they have never 
even attended church service until last Sunday, and I 
have some reason to suspect an ulterior motive. 
I am anxious to put nothing in the way of any hon- 
estly seeking soul, yet I confess that in these 
cases I hesitate.” 

“ But your elders? Do not they share the respon- 
sibility of passing upon such applications ? ” 

The flush on Mr. Wynkoop’s cheeks deepened, 
and his eyes fell. “ Ordinarily, yes ; but in this case 
I fear they may prove unduly harsh. I — I feel 
— that these applications came through the special 

[157] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


intercession of a certain young lady, and I am anxious 
not to hurt her feelings in any way, or to discourage 
her enthusiasm.” 

‘‘Oh, 1 see! Would you mind telling me the 
names of the two gentlemen ? ” 

“ Mr. John Moffat and Mr. William McNeil. 
Unfortunately, I know neither personally.” 

“ And the young lady ? ” 

“ A Miss Phoebe Spencer ; she has but lately 
arrived from the East to take charge of our new 
school — a most interesting and charming young 
woman, and she is proving of great assistance to me in 
church work.” 

The lieutenant cleared his throat, and emitted a 
sigh of suddenly awakened memory. “ I fear I can 
offer you no advice, for if, as I begin to suspect, — 
though she sought most bravely to avoid the issue and 
despatch me upon a false trail, — she prove to be that 
same fascinating young person I met this morning, my 
entire sympathies are with the gentlemen concerned. 
I might even be strongly tempted to do likewise at 
her solicitation.” 

“ You ? Why, you arrived only this morning, 
and do you mean to say you have met already ? ” 

“ I at least suspect as much, for there can scarcely 
exist two in this town who will fill the description. 
My memory holds the vision of a fair young face, 
vivacious, ever changing in its expression, yet con- 
stantly both piquant and innocent ; a perfect wealth 
of hair, a pair of serious eyes hiding mysteries 
within their depths, and lips which seem made to kiss. 

[158] 


SILENT MURPHY 


Tell me, is not this a fairly drawn portrait of your 
Miss Spencer ? ’* 

The minister gripped his hands nervously together. 
“Your description is not unjust; indeed, it is quite 
accurate from a mere outer point of view; yet beneath 
her vivacious manner I have found her thoughtful, 
and possessed of deep spiritual yearnings. In the 
East she was a communicant of the Episcopal 
Church.’' 

Brant did not answer him at once. He was study- 
ing the minister’s downcast face; but when the latter 
finally turned to depart, he inquired, “ Do you ex- 
pect to attend the reception to-morrow evening? ” 

Wynkoop stammered slightly. “I — I could 
hardly refuse under the circumstances ; the committee 
sent me an especially urgent invitation, and I under- 
stand there is to be no dancing until late. One cannot 
be too straight-laced out here.” 

“ Oh, never mind apologizing. I see no reason 
why you need hesitate to attend. I merely wondered 
if you could procure me an invitation.” 

“ Did she tell you about it ? ” 

“ Well, she delicately hinted at it, and, you know, 
things are pretty slow here in a social way. She 
merely suggested that I might possibly meet her again 
there.” 

“Of course; it is given in her honor.” 

“ So I understood, although she sought to deceive 
me into the belief that she was not the lady. We met 
purely by accident, you understand, and I am desirous 
of a more formal presentation.” 

[ 159 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The minister drew in his breath sharply, but the 
clasp of his extended hand was not devoid of warmth. 
“ I will have a card of invitation sent you at the camp. 
The committee will be very glad of your presence ; 
only I warn you frankly regarding the lady, that com- 
petition will be strong.’' 

‘‘ Oh, so far as that is concerned I have not yet 
entered the running, ” laughed Brant, in affected care- 
lessness, ‘‘ although I must confess my sporting pro- 
clivities are somewhat aroused.” 

He watched the minister walking rapidly away, a 
short, erect figure, appearing slender in his severely 
cut black cloth. ‘‘ Poor little chap,” he muttered, re- 
gretfully. “ He ’s hard hit. Still, they say all ’s fair in 
love and war. ” 


[i6o] 


CHAPTER V 
In Honor of Miss Spencer 

M r. jack MOFFAT, president of the Bachelor 
Miners* Pleasure Club, had embraced the idea 
of a reception for Miss Spencer with un- 
bounded enthusiasm. Indeed, the earliest conception 
of such an event found birth within his fertile brain, 
and from the first he determined upon making it the 
most notable social function ever known in that por- 
tion of the Territory. 

Heretofore the pastime of the Bachelors* Club had 
been largely bibulous, and the members thereof had 
exhibited small inclination to seek the ordinary 
methods of social relaxation as practised in Glencaid. 
Pink teas, or indeed teas of any conceivable color, had 
never proved sufficiently attractive to wean the mem- 
bers from the chaste precincts of the Occidental or 
the Miners* Retreat, while the mysterious pleasure of 
‘‘Hunt the Slipper** and “ Spat in and Spat out ** had 
likewise utterly failed to inveigle them from retire- 
ment. But Mr. Moffat*s example wrought an 
immediate miracle, so that, long before the fateful 
hour arrived, every registered bachelor was laboring 
industriously to make good the proud boast of their 
enthusiastic president, that this was going to be “ the 
swellest affair ever pulled off west of the Missouri.** 
The large space above the Occidental was secured 
[i6i] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


for the occasion, the obstructing subdivisions knocked 
away, an entrance constructed with an outside stairway 
leading up from a vacant lot, and the passage connect- 
ing the saloon boarded up. Incidentally, Mr. Moffat 
took occasion to announce that if ‘‘ any snoozer got 
drunk and came up them stairs ” he would be thrown 
bodily out of a window. Mr. McNeil, who was ob- 
serving the preliminary proceedings with deep inter- 
est from a pile of lumber opposite, sarcastically 
intimated that under such circumstances the attend- 
ance of club members would be necessarily limited. 
Mr. Moffat’s reply it is manifestly impossible to 
quote literally. Mrs. Guffy was employed to provide 
the requisite refreshments in the palatial dining-hall 
of the hotel, while Buck Mason, the vigilant town 
marshal, popularly supposed to know intimately the 
face of every “rounder” in the Territory, agreed to 
collect the cards of invitation at the door, and bar out 
obnoxious visitors. 

These preliminaries having been duly attended to, 
Mr. Moffat and his indefatigable committee of arrange- 
ments proceeded to master the details of decoration 
and entertainment, drawing heavily upon the limited 
resources of the local merchants, and even invading 
private homes in search after beautifying material. 
Jim Lane drove his buckboard one hundred and sixty 
miles to Cheyenne to gather up certain needed articles 
of adornment, the selection of which could not be safe- 
ly confided to the inartistic taste of the stage-driver. 
Upon his rapid return journey loaded down with 
spoils. Peg Brace, a cow-puncher in the “ Bar O ” 
[162] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


gang, rode recklessly alongside his speeding wheels for 
the greater portion of the distance, apparently in most 
jovial humor, and so unusually inquisitive as to make 
Mr. Lane, as he later expressed it, “ plum tired.” 
The persistent rider finally deserted him, however, at 
the ford over the Sinsiniwa, shouting derisively back 
from a safe distance that the Miners* Club was a lot of 
chumps, and promising them a severe “jolt” in the 
near future. 

Indeed, it was becoming more and more apparent 
that a decided feeling of hostility was fast developing 
between the respective partisans of Moffat and Mc- 
Neil. Thus far the feud merely smouldered, finding 
occasional expression in sarcastic speech, and the 
severance of former friendly relations, but it boded 
more serious trouble for the near future. To a loyal 
henchman, Moffat merely condescended to remark, 
glancing disdainfully at a knot of hard riders disconso- 
lately sitting their ponies in front of the saloon door, 
“We*ve got them fellers roped and tied, gents, 
and they simply won’t be ace-high with the ladies of 
this camp after our fandango is over with. We’re a 
holdin’ the hand this game, an’ it simply sweeps the 
board clean. That duffer McNeil’s the sickest look- 
ing duck I ’ve seen in a year, an’ the whole blame 
bunch of cow-punchers is corralled so tight there can’t 
a steer among ’em get a nose over the pickets.” 

He glanced over the waiting scene of festivities 
with intense satisfaction. From bare squalor the 
spacious apartment had been converted into a scene 
of almost gorgeous splendor. The waxed floor was a 

[163] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


perfect marvel of smoothness ; the numerous windows 
had been heavily draped in red, white, and blue hang- 
ings; festoons of the same rich hues hung gracefully 
suspended from the ceiling, trembling to the least cur- 
rent of air; oil lamps, upheld by almost invisible 
wires, dangled in profusion ; while within the far 
corner, occupying a slightly raised platform later to 
be utilized by the orchestra, was an imposing pulpit 
chair lent by the Presbyterian Church, resting upon a 
rug of skins, and destined as the seat of honor for the 
fair guest of the evening. Moffat surveyed all this 
thoughtfully, and proceeded proudly to the hotel to 
don a ‘‘boiled” shirt, and in other ways prepare him- 
self to do honor to his exalted office. Much to the 
surprise of McNeil, lounging with some cronies on 
the shaded porch, he nodded to him genially, adding 
a hearty, “Hello there. Bill,” as he passed care- 
lessly by. 

The invited guests arrived from the sparsely set- 
tled regions round about, not a few riding for a hundred 
miles over the hard trails. The majority came early, 
arrayed in whatsoever apparel their limited wardrobes 
could supply, but ready for any wild frolic. The men 
outnumbered the gentler sex five to one, but every 
feminine representative within a radius of about fifty 
miles, whose respectability could possibly pass muster 
before the investigations of a not too critical invitation 
committee, was present amid the throng, attired in all 
the finery procurable, and supremely and serenely 
happy in the assured consciousness that she would 
not lack partners whenever the enticing music began. 

[164] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


The gratified president of the Pleasure Club had 
occasion to expand his chest with just pride. Jauntily 
twirling his silky mustaches, he pushed his way 
through the jostling, good-natured crowd already 
surging toward the entrance of the hall, and stepped 
briskly forth along the moonlit road toward the 
Herndon home, where the fair queen of the revels 
awaited his promised escort. It was his hour of su- 
preme triumph, and his head swam with the delicious 
intoxication of well-earned success, the plaudits of his 
admirers, and the fond anticipation of Miss Spencer's 
undoubted surprise and gratitude. His, therefore, 
was the step and bearing of a conqueror, of one whose 
cup was already filled to the brim, and running over 
with the joy of life. 

The delay incident to the completion of an elab- 
orate toilet, together with the seductive charms of a 
stroll through the moon-haunted night beneath the spell 
of bright eyes and whispered words, resulted in a later 
arrival at the scene of festivities than had been intended. 
The great majority of the expected guests had already 
assembled, and were becoming somewhat restless. No 
favored courtier ever escorted beloved queen with 
greater pride or ceremony than that with which Mr. 
Moffat led his blushing charge through the throng 
toward her chair of state. The murmuring voices, the 
admiring eyes, the hush of expectancy, all contributed 
to warm the cockles of his heart and to color his face 
with the glow of victory. Glancing at his companion, 
he saw her cheeks flushed, her head held proudly 
poised, her countenance evidencing the enjoyment of 

[165] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


the moment, and he felt amply rewarded for the 
work which had produced so glorious a result. A 
moment he bent above her chair, whispering one 
last word of compliment into the little ear which 
reddened at his bold speech, and feasting his ardent 
eyes upon the flushed and animated counte- 
nance. The impatient crowd wondered at the nature 
of the coming ceremony, and Mr. Moffat strove 
to recall the opening words of his introductory 
address. 

Suddenly his gaze settled upon one face amid the 
throng. A moment of hesitation followed; then a 
quick whisper of excuse to the waiting divinity in the 
chair, and the perturbed president pressed his way 
toward the door. Buck Mason stood there on guard, 
carelessly leaning against the post, his star of office 
gleaming beneath the light. 

‘‘ Buck,’' exclaimed Moffat, ‘‘ how did that feller 
McNeil, and those other cow-punchers, get in here.^ 
You had your orders.” 

Mason turned his quid deliberately and spat at the 
open door. “You bet 1 did. Jack,” he responded 
cheerfully, yet with a trifle of exasperation evident in 
his eyes. “And what’s more, I reckon they was 
obeyed. There ain’t nobody got in yere ternight 
without they had a cyard.” 

“Well, there has”; and Moffat forgot his natural 
caution in a sudden excess of anger. “No invitations 
was sent them fellers. Do you mean to say they 
come in through the roof?” 

Mason straightened up, his face darkening, his 

[i66] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


clinched fist thrashing the air just in front of Moffat’s 
nose. 

“ 1 say they come in yere, right through this door ! 
An’ every mother’s son of ’em hed a cyard. I know 
what I ’m a-talkin’ about, you miserable third-class 
idiot, an’ if you give me any more of your lip I ’ll 
paste you good an’ proper. Go back thar whar you 
belong, an’ tind to your part of this fandango; I’m a 
runnin’ mine.” 

Moffat hesitated, his brow black as a thunder 
cloud, but the crowd was manifestly growing restless 
over the delay, calling “Time!” and “Play ball!” 
and stamping their feet. Besides, Buck was never 
known to be averse to a quarrel, and Moffat’s bump 
of caution was well developed. He went back, nurs- 
ing his wTath and cursing silently. The crowd greeted 
his reappearance with prolonged applause, and some 
of the former consciousness of victory returned. He 
glanced down into the questioning eyes of Miss 
Spencer, cleared his throat, then grasped her hand, 
and, as they stood there together, all his confidence 
came surging back. 

“ Ladies and Gentlemen of Glencaid,” he began 
gracefully, “as president of the Bachelor Miners’ 
Pleasure Club, it affords me extreme gratification to 
welcome you to this the most important social event 
ever pulled off in this Territory. It’s going to be a 
swell affair from the crack of the starter’s pistol to the 
last post, and you can bet on getting your money’s 
worth every time. That’s the sort of hairpins we 
are — all wool and a yard wide. Now, ladies and 

[167] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


gents, while it is not designed that the pleasure of this 
evening be marred by any special formalities, any such 
unnatural restrictions as disfigure such functions in 
the effete East [applause], and while I am only too 
anxious to exclaim with the poet, ^On with the dance, 
let joy be unconfined* [great applause] , yet it must be 
remembered that this high-toned outfit has been got 
up for a special, definite purpose, as a fit welcome to 
one who has come among us with the high and holy 
object of instructing our offspring and elevating the 
educational ideals of this community. We, of this 
Bachelors* Club, may possess no offspring to instruct, 
but we sympathize with them others who have, and 
desire to show our interest in the work. We have 
here with us to-night one of the loveliest of her sex, a 
flower of refinement and culture plucked from the 
Eastern hills, who, at the stern call of duty, has left her 
home and friends to devote her talents to this labor 
of love. In her honor we meet, in her honor this 
room has been decorated with the colors of our beloved 
country, and to her honor we now dedicate the fleeting 
hours of this festal night. It is impossible for her to 
greet you all personally, much as she wishes to do so, 
but as president of the Bachelor Miners* Pleasure 
Club, and also,** with a deep bow to his blushing and 
embarrassed companion, “ I may venture to add, as 
an intimate friend of our fair guest, I now introduce 
to you Glencaid*s new schoolmistress — Miss Phoebe 
Spencer. Hip! Hip! Hurrah!"' 

Swinging his hand high above his head, the 
enthusiastic orator led the noisy cheers which instantly 
[, 68 ] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


burst forth in unrestrained volume; and before which 
Miss Spencer shrank back into her chair, trembling, 
yet strangely happy. Good humor swayed that 
crowd, laughter rippled from parted lips, while voices 
here and there began a spontaneous demand for a 
speech. Miss Spencer shook her flossy head helplessly, 
feeling too deeply agitated to utter a word; and 
Moffat, now oblivious to everything but the important 
part he was playing in the brilliant spectacle, stepped 
before her, waving the clamorous assembly into tem- 
porary and expectant silence. 

“ Our charming guest,’* he announced, in tones 
vibrant with authority, “ is so deeply affected by this 
spontaneous outpouring of your good-will as to be 
unable to respond in words. Let us respect her 
natural embarrassment ; let us now exhibit that proud 
Western chivalry which will cause her to feel perfectly 
at home in our midst. The orchestra will strike up, 
and amid the mazy whirling of the dance we will at 
once sink all formality, as becomes citizens of this 
free and boundless West, this land of gold, of sterling 
manhood, and womanly beauty. To slightly change 
the poet’s lines, written of a similar occasion : 

'‘There was a sound of revelry by night. 

And proud Glencaid had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o^er fair women and brave men.** 

So, scatter out, gents, and pick up your partners for 
the first whirl. This is our turn to treat, and our 
motto is ‘Darn the expense.’ ” 

He bent over, purposing to lead the lady of his 
[169] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


heart forth to the earliest strains of the violins, his 
genial smile evidencing his satisfaction. 

“Say, — eh — just hold on — eh — a minute!” 

Moffat wheeled about, a look of amazement re- 
placing his previous jovial smile. His eyes hardened 
dangerously as they encountered the face of McNeil. 
The latter was white about the lips, but primed for 
action, and not inclined to waste time in preliminaries. 

“Look here, this ain't your time to butt in — ” 
began Moffat, angrily, but the other waved his hand. 

“Say, gents, — eh — that feller had his spiel all 
right — eh — ain't he? He wants to be — eh — the 
whole hog, but — eh, — I reckon this is a — eh — free 
country, ain't it ? Don't I have — eh — no show?'' 

“ Go on. Bill ! ” 

“ Of course you do.'' 

“ Make Jack Moffat shut up 1 '' 

The justly indignant president of the Bachelors' 
Club remained motionless, his mouth still open, 
struggling to restrain those caustic and profane 
remarks which, in that presence, he dare not utter. 
He instinctively flung one hand back to his hip, only 
to remember that all guns had been left at the door. 
McNeil eyed him calmly, as he might eye a chained 
bear, his lips parted in a genial smile. 

“I — eh — ain't no great shakes of an — eh — 
orator, '' he began, apologetically, waving one hand 
toward his gasping rival, “ like Mr. — eh — Moffat. 
I can't sling words round — eh — reckless, like 
the — eh — gent what just had the floor, ner — eh — 
spout poetry, but I reckon — eh — I kin git out — eh — 
[170] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


’bout what I got to say. Mr. MofFat has — eh — 
told you what the — eh — Bachelor Miners’ Club — eh 
— has been a-doin’. He — eh — spread it on pretty 
blame thick, but — eh — I reckon they ain’t — 
eh — all of ’em miners round this yere — eh — camp. 
As the — eh — president of the — eh — Cattlemen’s 
Shakespearian — eh — Reading Circle, I am asked to 
present to — eh — Miss Spencer a slight token — eh 
— of our esteem, and — eh — to express our pleasure 
at — eh — being permitted,” he bowed to the choking 
Mr. Moffat, “eh — to participate in this — eh — most 
glorious occasion.” 

He stepped forward, and dropped into Miss Spen- 
cer’s lap a small plush-covered box. Her fingers 
pressed the spring, and, as the lid flew open, the 
brilliant flash of a diamond dazzled her eyes. She 
sat staring at it, unable for the moment to find 
speech. Then the assemblage burst into an unre- 
strained murmur of admiration, and the sound served 
to arouse her. 

“Oh, how beautiful it all is !” she exclaimed, 
rapturously. “ I hardly know what to say, or whom 
to thank. I never heard of anything so perfectly 
splendid before. It makes me cry just to remember 
that it is all done for me. Oh, Mr. Moffat, I want 
to thank, through you, the gentlemen of the Bache- 
lors’ Club for this magnificent reception. I know I 
do not deserve it, but it makes me so proud to realize 
the interest you all take in my work. And, Mr. 
McNeil, I beg you to return my gratitude to the gentle- 
men of the — the (oh, thank you) — the Cattlemen’s 

[i7>] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Shakespearian Reading Circle (how very nice of you to 
have such an organization for the study of higher liter- 
ature!) for this superb gift. I shall never forget this 
night, or what it has brought me, and I simply cannot 
express my real feelings at all ; I — I don’t know 
what to say, or — or what to do.” 

She paused, burying her face in her hands, her 
body shaken with sobs. Moffat, scarcely knowing 
whether to swear or smile, hastily signalled for the 
waiting musicians to begin. As they swung merrily 
into waltz measure he stepped forward, fully confi- 
dent of his first claim for that opening dance, and 
vaguely conscious that, once upon the floor with 
her, he might thus regain his old leadership. Miss 
Spencer glanced up at him through her tears. 

— I really feel scarcely equal to the attempt,” 
she murmured nervously, yet rising to her feet. Then 
a new thought seemed suddenly to occur to her. Oh, 
Mr. Moffat, I have been so highly favored, and I am 
so extremely anxious to do everything I can to show 
my gratitude. I know it is requesting so much of you 
to ask your relinquishment of this first dance with me 
to-night. As president of the Bachelors* Club it is 
your right, of course, but don’t you truly think I ought 
to give it to Mr. McNeil? We were together all the 
way from the house, you know, and we had such a 
delightful walk. You wouldn’t truly mind yielding 
up your claim for just this once, would you ? ” 

Moffat did not reply, simply because he could not; 
he was struck dumb, gasping for breath, the room 
whirling around before him, while he stared at her 
[172] 


IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER 


with dazed, unseeing eyes. His very helplessness to 
respond she naturally interpreted as acquiescence. 

‘‘ It is so good of you, Mr. Moffat, for I realize 
how you were counting upon this first dance, were n 't 
you? But Mr. McNeil being here as the guest of 
your club, I think it is perfectly beautiful of you to 
waive your own rights as president, so as to ac- 
knowledge his unexpected contribution to the joy of 
our evening.” She touched him playfully with her 
hand, the other resting lightly upon McNeiFs sleeve, 
her innocent, happy face upturned to his dazed eyes. 
‘‘ But remember, the next turn is to be yours, and I 
shall never forget this act of chivalry.” 

It is doubtful if he saw her depart, for the entire 
room was merely an indistinct blur. He was too des- 
perately angry even to swear. In this emergency, Mr. 
Wynkoop, dimly realizing that something unpleasant 
had occurred, sought to attract the attention of his new 
parishioner along happier lines. 

‘‘ How exceedingly strange it is, Mr. Moffat,” he 
ventured, that beings otherwise rational, and possess- 
ing souls destined for eternity, can actually appear to 
extract pleasure from such senseless exercises ? I do 
not in the least blame Miss Spencer, for she is yet 
young, and probably thoughtless about such matters, 
as the youthful are wont to be, but I am, indeed, 
rejoiced to note that you do not dance.” 

Moffat wheeled upon him, his teeth grinding sav- 
agely together. “ Shut up!” he snapped, fiercely, and 
shaking off the pastor’s gently restraining fingers, shoul- 
dered his passage through the crowd toward the door. 

[173] 


CHAPTER VI 


The Lieutenant Meets Miss Spencer 
lEUTENANT BRANT was somewhat de- 



layed in reaching the scene of Miss Spencer’s 


social triumph. Certain military requirements 
were largely responsible for this delay, and he had 
patiently wrestled with an unsatisfactory toilet, mentally 
excoriating a service which would not permit the 
transportation of dress uniforms while on scouting 
detail. Nevertheless, when he finally stepped forth 
into the brilliant moonlight, he presented an interest- 
ing, soldierly figure, his face still retaining a bit of the 
boy about it, his blue eyes bright with expectancy. 
That afternoon he had half decided not to go at all, 
the glamour of such events having long before grown 
dim, but the peculiar attraction of this night proved 
too strong ; not thus easily could he erase from mem- 
ory the haunting witchery of a face. Beyond doubt, 
when again viewed amid the conventionalities, much 
of its imagined charm would vanish ; yet he would 
see her once more, although no longer looking 
forward to drawing a prize. 

The dance was already in full swing, the exciting 
preliminaries having been largely forgotten in the ex- 
uberance of motion, when he finally pushed his way 
through the idle loungers gathered about the door, and 
gained entrance to the hall. Many glanced curiously 


[174] 


BRANT MEETS MISS SPENCER 


at him, attracted by the glitter of his uniform, but he 
recognized none among them, and therefore passed 
steadily toward the musicians’ stand, where there ap- 
peared to be a few unoccupied chairs. 

The scene was one of color and action. The rapid, 
pulsating music, the swiftly whirling figures, the quiv- 
ering drapery overhead, the bright youthful faces, the 
glow of numerous lamps, together with the ceaseless 
voices and merry shuffling of feet, all combined to cre- 
ate a scene sufficiently picturesque. It was altogether 
different from what he had anticipated. He watched 
the speeding figures, striving in vain to distinguish the 
particular one whose charms had lured him thither. 
He looked upon fair faces in plenty; flushed cheeks 
and glowing eyes skurried past him, with swirling 
skirts and flashes of neatly turned ankles, as these 
enthusiastic maids and matrons from hill and prairie 
strove to make amends for long abstinence. But 
among them all he was unable to distinguish the 
wood-nymph whose girlish frankness and grace had 
left so deep an impression on his memory. Yet 
surely she must be present, for, to his understanding, 
this whole gay festival was in her honor. Directly 
across the room he caught sight of the Reverend 
Mr, Wynkoop conversing with a lady of somewhat 
rounded charms, and picked his way in their direction. 

The missionary, who had yet scarcely recovered 
from the shock of Moffat’s impulsive speech, and 
who, in truth, had been hiding an agonized heart 
behind a smiling face, was only too delighted at any 
excuse which would enable him to approach Miss 

[175] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Spencer, and press aside those cavaliers who were 
monopolizing her attention. The handicap of not 
being able to dance he felt to be heavy, and he greeted 
the lieutenant with unusual heartiness of manner. 

‘‘Why, most assuredly, my dear sir, most as- 
suredly,*’ he said. “ Mrs. Herndon, permit me to 
make you acquainted with Lieutenant Brant, of the 
Seventh Cavalry.” 

The two, thus introduced, bowed, and exchanged 
a few words, while Mr. Wynkoop busied himself in 
peering about the room, making a great pretence at 
searching out the lady guest, who, in very truth, had 
scarcely been absent from his sight during the entire 
evening. 

“Ah!” he ejaculated, “at last I locate her, and, 
fortunately, at this moment she is not upon the floor, 
although positively hidden by the men clustering 
about her chair. You will excuse us, Mrs. Herndon, 
but I have promised Lieutenant Brant a presentation 
to your niece.” 

They slipped past the musicians’ stand, and the 
missionary pressed in through the ring of admirers. 

“Why, Mr. Wynkoop!” and she extended both 
hands impulsively. “And only to think, you have 
never once been near me all this evening; you 
have not congratulated me on my good fortune, nor ex- 
hibited the slightest interest! You don’t know how 
much I have missed you. I was just saying to Mr. 
Moffat — or it might have been Mr. McNeil — that I 
was completely tired out and wished you were here to 
sit out this dance with me.” 

[176] 


BRANT MEETS MISS SPENCER 


Wynkoop blushed and forgot the errand which had 
brought him there, but she remained sufficiently cool 
and observant. She touched him gently with her hand. 

“Who is that fine-looking young officer?’' she 
questioned softly, yet without venturing to remove 
her glance from his face. 

Mr. Wynkoop started. “ Oh, exactly ; I had 
forgotten my mission. He has requested an intro- 
duction.” He drew the lieutenant forward. “Lieu- 
tenant Brant, Miss Spencer.” 

The officer bowed, a slight shadow of disappoint- 
ment in his eyes. The lady was unquestionably 
attractive, her face animated, her reception most 
cordial, yet she was not the maiden of the dark, 
fathomless eyes and the wealth of auburn hair. 

“ Such a pleasure to meet you,” exclaimed Miss 
Spencer, her eyes uplifted shyly, only to become at 
once modestly shaded behind their long lashes. “ Do 
you know. Lieutenant, that actually I have never 
before had the privilege of meeting an officer of the 
army. Why, we in the East scarcely realize that we 
possess such a body of brave men. But I have read 
much regarding the border, and all the dreams of my 
girlhood seem on the point of realization since I came 
here and began mingling in its free, wild life. Your 
appearance supplies the one touch of color that was 
lacking to make the picture complete. Mr. Moffat 
has done so much to make me realize the breadth of 
Western experience, and now, I do so hope, you will 
some time find opportunity to recount to me some of 
your army exploits.” 


[•77] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The lieutenant smiled. “Most gladly; yet just 
now, I confess, the music invites me, and I am suf- 
ficiently bold to request your company upon the floor.'' 

Miss Spencer sighed regretfully, her eyes sweep- 
ing across those numerous manly faces surrounding 
them. “Why, really. Lieutenant Brant, I scarcely 
see how I possibly can. I have already refused so 
many this evening, and even now I almost believe I 
must be under direct obligation to some one of those 
gentlemen. Still," hesitatingly, “your being a total 
stranger here must be taken into consideration. Mr. 
Moffat, Mr. McNeil, Mr. Mason, surely you will 
grant me release this once ? " 

There was no verbal response to the appeal, only 
an uneasy movement ; but her period of waiting was 
extremely brief. 

“Oh, I knew you would; you have all been so 
kind and considerate." She arose, resting her daintily 
gloved hand upon Brant's blue sleeve, her pleased eyes 
smiling up confidingly into his. Then with a charm- 
ing smile, “ Oh, Mr. Wynkoop, I have decided to 
claim your escort to supper. You do not care P' 

Wynkoop bowed, his face like a poppy. 

“ I thought you would not mind obliging me in 
this. Come, Lieutenant." 

Miss Spencer, when she desired to be, was a most 
vivacious companion, and always an excellent dancer. 
Brant easily succumbed to her sway, and became, for 
the time being, a victim to her charms. They circled the 
long room twice, weaving their way skilfully among 
the numerous couples, forgetful of everything but the 

[178] 


BRANT MEETS MISS SPENCER 


subtile intoxication of that swinging cadence to which 
their feet kept such perfect time, occasionally exchang- 
ing brief sentences in which compliment played no 
insignificant part. To Brant, as he marked the height- 
ened color flushing her fair cheeks, the experience 
brought back fond memories of his last cadet ball at 
the Point, and he hesitated to break the mystic spell 
with abrupt questioning. Curiosity, however, finally 
mastered his reticence. 

Miss Spencer,” he asked, ‘‘ may I inquire if you 
possess such a phenomenon as a ‘star' pupil?” 

The lady laughed merrily, but her expression be- 
came somewhat puzzled. “ Really, what a very strange 
question ! Why, not unless it might be little Sammy 
Worrell ; he can certainly use the longest words I ever 
heard of outside a dictionary. Why, may I ask ? Are 
you especially interested in prodigies ? ” 

“ Oh, not in the least; certainly not in little Sammy 
Worrell. The person I had reference to chances to be 
a young woman, having dark eyes, and a wealth of 
auburn hair. We met quite by accident, and the sole 
clew I now possess to her identity is a claim she 
advanced to being your ‘star' pupil.” 

Miss Spencer sighed somewhat regretfully, and her 
eyes fell. “ I fear it must have been Naida, from your 
description. But she is scarcely more than a child. 
Surely, Lieutenant, it cannot be possible that you have 
become interested in her?” 

He smiled pleasantly. “At least eighteen, is 
she not ? I was somewhat impressed' with her 
evident originality, and hoped to renew our slight 

[179] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


acquaintanceship here in more formal manner. She 
is your ‘ star ’ pupil, then ? ” 

Why, she is not really in my school at all, but 
I outline, the studies she pursues at home, and lend 
her such books as I consider best adapted for her 
reading. She is such a strange girl ! ” 

‘‘Indeed? She appeared to me to be extremely 
unconventional, with a decided tendency for mischief. 
Is that your meaning?” 

“ Partially. She manages to do everything in a 
different way from other people. Her mind seems 
peculiarly independent, and she is so unreservedly 
Western in her ways and language. But I was referring 
rather to her taste in books — she devours everything.” 

“ You mean as a student ? ” 

“Well, yes, I suppose so; at least she appears to 
possess the faculty of absorbing every bit of informa- 
tion, like a sponge. Sometimes she actually startles 
me with her odd questions ; they are so unexpected 
and abstruse, falling from the lips of so young a girl. 
Then her ideas are so crude and uncommon, and she 
is so frankly outspoken, that I become actually nervous 
when I am with her. I really believe Mr. Wynkoop 
seeks to avoid meeting her, she has shocked him so 
frequently in religious matters.” 

“ Does she make light of his faith ? ” 

“ Oh, no, not that exactly, at least it is not her 
intention. But she wants to know everything — why 
we believe this and why we believe that, doctrines 
which no one else ever dreams of questioning, and he 
cannot seem to make them clear to her mind. Some 
[180] 


BRANT MEETS MISS SPENCER 


of her questions are so irreverent as to be positively 
shocking to a spiritually minded person.’* 

They lapsed into silence, swinging easily to the 
guidance of the music. His face was grave and 
thoughtful. This picture just drawn of the perverse 
Naida had not greatly lowered her in his estimation, 
although he felt instinctively that Miss Spencer was 
not altogether pleased with his evident interest in 
another. It was hardly in her nature patiently to 
brook a rival, but she dissembled with all the art of 
a clever woman, smiling happily up into his face as 
their eyes again met. 

“ It is very interesting to know that you two met 
in so unconventional a way,” she ventured, softly, 
and so sly of her not even to mention it to me. We 
are room-mates, you know, and consequently quite 
intimate, although she possesses many peculiar char- 
acteristics which I cannot in the least approve. But 
after all, Naida is really a good-hearted girl enough, 
and she will probably outgrow her present irregular 
ways, for, indeed, she is scarcely more than a child. I 
shall certainly do my best to guide her aright. Would 
you mind giving me some details of your meeting?” 

For a moment he hesitated, feeling that if the girl 
had not seen fit to confide her adventure to this par- 
ticular friend, it was hardly his place to do so. Then, 
remembering that he had already said enough to 
arouse curiosity, which might easily be developed into 
suspicion, he determined his course. In a few words 
the brief story was frankly told, and apparently proved 
quite amusing to Miss Spencer. 

[i8i] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ Oh, that was Naida, beyond a doubt,” she ex- 
claimed, with a laugh of satisfaction. It is all so 
characteristic of her. I only wonder how she chanced 
to guess your name ; but really the girl appears to 
possess some peculiar gift in thus discerning facts 
hidden from others. Her instincts seem so finely 
developed that at times she reminds me of a wild 
animal.” 

This caustic inference did not please him, but he 
said nothing, and the music coming to a pause, they 
slowly traversed the room. 

“I presume, then, she is not present?” he said, 
quietly. 

Miss Spencer glanced into his face, the grave tone 
making her apprehensive that she might have gone 
too far. 

She was here earlier in the evening, but now 
that you remind me of it, I do not recall having 
noticed her of late. But, really. Lieutenant, it is no 
part of my duty to chaperon the young girl. Mrs. 
Herndon could probably inform you of her present 
whereabouts.” 

Miss Spencer was conscious of the sting of failure, 
and her face flushed with vexation. ^Ht is extremely 
close in here, don’t you think ? ” she complained. 
“And I was so careless as to mislay my fan. I feel 
almost suffocated.” 

“ Did you leave it at home ? ” he questioned. 
“ Possibly I might discover a substitute somewhere in 
the room.” 

“Oh, no; I would never think of troubling you to 
[182] 


BRANT MEETS MISS SPENCER 


such an extent. No doubt this feeling of lassitude 
will pass away shortly. It was very foolish of me, but 
I left the fan with my wraps at the hotel. It can 
be recovered when we go across to supper.” 

In spite of Miss Spencer's quiet words of renunci- 
ation, there was a look of pleading in her shyly uplifted 
eyes impossible to resist. Brant promptly surrendered 
before this masked battery. 

‘‘ It will be no more than a pleasure to recover it 
for you,” he protested, gallantly. 

The stairs leading down from the hall entrance 
were shrouded in darkness, the street below nearly 
deserted of loiterers, although lights streamed forth 
resplendently from the undraped windows of the 
Occidental and the hotel opposite. Assisted in his 
search by Mrs. Guffy, the officer succeeded in recov- 
ering the lost fan, and started to return. Just with- 
out the hotel door, under the confusing shadows of 
the wide porch, he came suddenly face to face with a 
young woman, the unexpected encounter a mutual and 
embarrassing surprise. 


[1831 


CHAPTER VII 
An Unusual Girl 

T he girl was without wraps, her dress of some 
light, fleecy material fitting her slender figure 
exquisitely, her head uncovered; within her 
eyes Brant imagined he could detect the glint of tears. 
She spoke first, her voice faltering slightly. 

“ Will you kindly permit me to pass?” 

He stepped instantly to one side, bowing as he 
did so. 

beg your pardon for such seeming rudeness,” 
he said, gravely. I have been seeking you all the 
evening, yet this unexpected meeting caught me quite 
unawares.” 

‘‘You have been seeking me? That is strange. 
For what reason, pray ? ” 

“To achieve what you were once kind enough to 
suggest as possible — the formality of an introduction. 
It would seem, however, that fate makes our meet- 
ings informal.” 

“ That is your fault, not mine.” 

“ I gladly assume all responsibility, if you will only 
waive the formality and accept my friendship.” 

Her face seemed to lighten, while her lips twitched 
as if suppressing a smile. “You are very forgetful. 
Did I not tell you that we Presbyterians are never 
guilty of such indiscretions ? ” 

[184] 


AN UNUSUAL GIRL 


“ I believe you did, but I doubt your complete 
surrender to the creed/’ 

“ Doubt! Only our second time of meeting, and 
you already venture to doubt I This can scarcely be 
construed into a compliment, I fear.” 

“ Yet to my mind it may prove the very highest 
type of compliment,” he returned, reassured by her 
manner. ‘‘For a certain degree of independence in 
both thought and action is highly commendable. 
Indeed, I am going to be bold enough to add that it 
was these very attributes that awakened my interest in 
you.” 

“ Oh, indeed ; you cause me to blush already. My 
frankness, I fear, bids fair to cost me all my friends, 
and I may even go beyond your pardon, if the per- 
verse spirit of my nature so move me.” 

“ The risk of such a catastrophe is mine, and I 
would gladly dare that much to get away from con- 
ventional commonplace. One advantage of such 
meetings as ours is an immediate insight into each 
other’s deeper nature. For one I shall sincerely rejoice 
if you will permit the good fortune of our chance 
meeting to be alone sponsor for our future friendship. 
Will you not say yes ? ” 

She looked at him with greater earnestness, her 
young face sobered by the words spoken. Whatever 
else she may have seen revealed there, the counte- 
nance bending slightly toward her was a serious, 
manly one, inspiring respect, awakening confidence. 

“ And I do agree,” she said, extending her hand 
girlish impulse. “ It will, at least, be a new 

['8s] 


in a 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


experience and therefore worth the trial. 1 will even 
endeavor to restrain my rebellious spirit, so that you 
will not be unduly shocked.” 

He laughed, now placed entirely at his ease. 
‘‘Your need of mercy is appreciated, fair lady. Is it 
your desire to return to the hall? ” 

She shook her head positively. “ A cheap, gaudy 
show, all bluster and vulgarity. Even the dancing is 
a mere parody. I early tired of it.” 

“Then let us choose the better part, and sit here 
on the bench, the night our own.” 

He conducted her across the porch to the darkest 
corner, where only rifts of light stole trembling in 
between the shadowing vines, and there found con- 
venient seats. A moment they remained in silence, 
and he could hear her breathing. 

“ Have you truly been at the hall,” she ques- 
tioned, “or were you merely fibbing to awaken my 
interest ? ” 

“ I truly have been,” he answered, “ and actually 
have danced a measure with the fair guest of the 
evening.” 

“ With Phoebe Spencer ! And yet you dare pre- 
tend now to retain an interest in me? Lieutenant 
Brant, you must be a most talented deceiver, or else 
the strangest person I ever met. Such a miracle has 
never occurred before ! ” 

“ Well, it has certainly occurred now ; nor am I 
in this any vain deceiver. I truly met Miss Spencer. 
I was the recipient of her most entrancing smiles ; I 
listened to her modulated voice ; I bore her off, a 
[. 86 ] 


AN UNUSUAL GIRL 


willing captive, from a throng of despairing ad- 
mirers; I danced with her, gazing down into her 
eyes, with her fluffy hair brushing my cheek, yet 
resisted all her charms and came forth thinking only 
of you/' 

“ Indeed ? Your proof? " 

He drew the white satin fan forth from his pocket, 
and held it out toward her with mock humility. 
“ This, unbelieving princess. Despatched by the fair 
lady in question to fetch this bauble from the dressing- 
room, I forgot my urgent errand in the sudden delight 
of finding you.” 

‘‘ The case seems fully proved,” she confessed, 
laughingly, and it is surely not my duty to punish 
the culprit. What did you talk about ? But, pshaw, 
I know well enough without asking — she told you 
how greatly she admired the romance of the West, 
and begged you to call upon her with a recital of your 
own exploits. Have I not guessed aright?" 

“Partially, at least; some such expressions were 
used.” 

“ Of course, they always are. I do not know 
whether they form merely a part of her stock in 
trade, or are spoken earnestly. You would laugh to 
hear the tales of wild and thrilling adventure which 
she picks up, and actually believes. That Jack Mof- 
fat possesses the most marvellous imagination for such 
things, and if I make fun of his impossible stories she 
becomes angry in an instant.” 

“ I am afraid you do not greatly admire this Miss 
Spencer ? ” 

[187] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Oh, but I do ; truly I do. You must not think 
me ungrateful. No one has ever helped me more, 
and beneath this mask of artificiality she is really a 
noble-hearted woman. I do not understand the 
necessity for people to lead false lives. Is it this way 
in all society — Eastern society, I mean.? Do men 
and women there continually scheme and flirt, smile 
and stab, forever assuming parts like so many play- 
actors ? ” 

‘‘ It is far too common,” he admitted, touched by 
her naive questioning. “ What is known as fashion- 
able social life has become an almost pitiful sham, and 
you can scarcely conceive the relief it is to meet with 
one utterly uncontaminated by its miserable deceits, its 
shallow make-believes. It is no wonder you shock 
the nerves of such people ; the deed is easily ac- 
complished.” 

‘‘But I do not mean to.” And she looked at him 
gravely, striving to make him comprehend. “ I try 
so hard to be — be commonplace, and — and satisfied. 
Only there is so much that seems silly, useless, pitifully 
contemptible that I lose all patience. Perhaps I need 
proper training in what Miss Spencer calls refinement ; 
but why should I pretend to like what I don’t like, 
and to believe what I don’t believe ? Cannot one act 
a lie as well as speak one ? And is it no longer right to 
search after the truth ? ” 

“ I have always felt it was our duty to discover 
the truth wherever possible,” he said, thoughtfully; 
“yet, I confess, the search is not fashionable, nor the 
earnest seeker popular.” 

[. 88 ] 


AN UNUSUAL GIRL 


A little trill of laughter flowed from between her 
parted lips, but the sound was not altogether merry. 

“ Most certainly I am not. They all scold me, and 
repeat with manifest horror the terrible things I say, 
being unconscious that they are evil. Why should I 
suspect thoughts that come to me naturally ? I want 
to know, to understand. I grope about in the dark. 
It seems to me sometimes that this whole world is a 
mystery. I go to Mr. Wynkoop with my questions, 
and they only seem to shock him. Why should they ? 
God must have put all these doubts and wonderings 
into my mind, and there must be an answer for them 
somewhere. Mr. Wynkoop is a good man, I truly 
respect him. I want to please him, and I admire his 
intellectual attainments ; but how can he accept so much 
on faith, and be content ? Do you really suppose he 
is content ? Don't you think he ever questions as I 
do ? or has he actually succeeded in smothering every 
doubt ? He cannot answer what I ask him; he cannot 
make things clear. He just pulls up a few, cheap, 
homely weeds, — useless common things, — when I beg 
for flowers; he hands them to me, and bids me seek 
greater faith through prayer. I know I am a perfect 
heathen, — Miss Spencer says I am, — but do you think 
it is so awful for me to want to know these things?" 

He permitted his hand to drop upon hers, and 
she made no motion of displeasure. 

You merely express clearly what thousands feel 
without the moral courage to utter it. The saddest 
part of it all is, the deeper we delve the less we are sat- 
isfied in our intellectual natures. We merely succeed 
[189] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


in learning that we are the veriest pygmies. Men 
like Mr. Wynkoop are simply driven back upon faith 
as a last resort, absolutely baffled by an inpenetrable 
wall, against which they batter mentally in vain. They 
have striven with mystery, only to meet with ignomini- 
ous defeat. Faith alone remains, and I dare not deny 
that such faith is above all knowledge. The pity of it is, 
there are some minds to whom this refuge is impossible. 
They are forever doomed to be hungry and remain 
unfed; thirsty, yet unable to quench their thirst.’* 

“ Are you a church member ? ” 

Yes.” 

Do you believe those things you do not under- 
stand ^ ” 

He drew a deep breath, scarcely knowing at that 
moment how best to answer, yet sincerely anxious to 
lead this girl toward the light. 

“ The majority of men do not talk much about 
such matters. They hold them sacred. Yet I will 
speak frankly with you. I could not state in words 
my faith so that it would be clearly apprehended by 
the mind of another. I am in the church because I 
believe its efforts are toward righteousness, because I 
believe the teachings of Christ are perfect. His life 
the highest possible type of living, and because 
through Him we receive all the information regard- 
ing a future existence which we possess. That my 
mind rests satisfied I do not say ; I simply accept what 
is given, preferring a little light to total darkness.” 

‘‘But here they refuse to accept any one like that. 
They say I am not yet in a fit state of mind.” 

[190] 


AN UNUSUAL GIRL 


‘‘Such a judgment would seem to me narrow. I 
was fortunate in coming under the influence of a 
broad-minded religious teacher. To my statement of 
doubts he simply said: ‘Believe what you can; live 
the very best you can, and keep your mind open 
toward the light.* It seems to me now this is all that 
any one can do whose nature will not permit of blind, 
unquestioning faith. To require more of ordinary 
human beings is unreasonable, for God gave us mind 
and ability to think.** 

There was a pause, so breathless they could hear 
the rustle of the leaves in the almost motionless air, 
while the strains of gay music floating from the open 
windows sounded loud and strident. 

“ I am so glad you have spoken in that way,** 
she confessed. “ I shall never feel quite so much 
alone in the world again, and I shall see these 
matters from a diflFerent viewpoint. Is it wrong — 
unwomanly, I mean — for me, to question spiritual 
things ? ’* 

“ I am unable to conceive why it should be. 
Surely woman ought to be as deeply concerned in 
things spiritual as man.** 

“ How very strange it is that we should thus drift 
into such an intimate talk at our second meeting ! ** 
she exclaimed. “ But it seems so easy, so natural, to 
converse frankly with some people — they appear to 
draw out all that is best in one*s heart. Then there 
are others who seem to parch and wither up every 
germ of spiritual life.** 

“There are those in the world who truly belong 

[191] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


together,” he urged, daringly. “They belong to each 
other by some divine law. They may never be priv- 
ileged to meet; but if they do, the commingling of 
their minds and souls is natural. This talk of ours 
to-night has, perhaps, done me as much good as you.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad if it has ! I — 1 do not believe 
you and Miss Spencer conversed in this way ? ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! And yet it might puzzle you 
to guess what was the main topic of our conversation.” 

“ Did it interest you ? ” 

“ Deeply.” 

“Well, then, it could not be dress, or men, or 
Western romance, or society in Boston, or the beauti- 
ful weather. I guess it was books.” 

“Wrong; they were never mentioned.” 

“Then I shall have to give up, for I do not re- 
member any other subjects she talks about.” 

“Yet it was the most natural topic imaginable 
— yourself.” 

“You were discussing me? Why, how did that 
happen ? ” 

“Very simply, and I was wholly to blame. To be 
perfectly honest. Miss Naida, I attended the dance 
to-night for no other object than to meet you again. 
But I had argued myself into the belief that you were 
Miss Spencer. The discovery of my mistake merely 
intensified my determination to learn who you really 
were. With this purpose, I interviewed Miss Spen- 
cer, and during the course of our conversation the 
facts of my first meeting with you became known.” 

“You told her how very foolish I acted?” 

[ipd] 


AN UNUSUAL GIRL 


‘‘ I told her how deeply interested I had become 
in your outspoken manner.” 

“ Oh ! And she exclaimed, ‘ How romantic! ' ” 
Possibly ; she likewise took occasion to suggest 
that you were merely a child, and seemed astonished 
that I should have given you a second thought.” 

“Why, I am eighteen.” 

“ I told her I believed you to be of that age, and 
she ignored my remark. But what truly surprised 
both of us was, how you happened to know my name.” 

The girl did not attempt to answer, and she was 
thankful enough that there was not sufficient light to 
betray the reddening of her cheeks. 

“ And you do not mean, even now, to make clear 
the mystery ? ” he asked. 

“ Not — now,” she answered, almost timidly. “ It 
is nothing much, only I would rather not now.” 

The sudden sound of voices and laughter in the 
street beneath brought them both to their feet. 

“ Why, they are coming across to supper,” she ex- 
claimed, in surprise. “ How long we have been here, 
and it has seemed scarcely a moment I I shall certainly 
be in for a scolding, Lieutenant Brant ; and I fear your 
only means of saving me from being promptly sent 
home in disgrace will be to escort me in to supper.” 

“ A delightful punishment 1 ” He drew her hand 
through his arm, and said : “ And then you will pledge 
me the first dance following?” 

“Oh, you mustn't ask me. Really, I have not 
been on the floor to-night ; I am not in the mood.” 

“ Do you yield to moods ? ” 

[193] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ Why, of course I do. Is it not a woman’s privi- 
lege? If you know me long it will be to find me all 
moods.” 

“If they only prove as attractive as the particular 
one swaying you to-night, I shall certainly have no 
cause for complaint. Come, Miss Naida, please culti- 
vate the mood to say yes, before those others arrive. ” 

She glanced up at him, shaking her dark hair, her 
lips smiling. “My present mood is certainly a good- 
natured one,” she confessed, softly, “and consequently 
it is impossible to say no.” 

His hand pressed hers, as the thronging couples 
came merrily up the steps. 

“Why, Naida, is this you, child? Where have 
you been all this time?” It was Miss Spencer, cling- 
ing to Mr. Wynkoop’s arm. 

“ Merely sitting out a dance,” was the seemingly 
indifferent answer; then she added sweetly, “Have 
you ever met my friend. Lieutenant Brant, of the 
Seventh Cavalry, Phcebe? We were just going in to 
supper.” 

Miss Spencer’s glance swept over the silent 
young officer. “I believe I have had the honor. It 
was my privilege to be introduced to the gentleman by 
a mutual friend.” 

The inward rush of hungry guests swept them all 
forward in laughing, jostling confusion; but Naida’s 
cheeks burned with indignation. 


[>94] 


CHAPTER VIII 

The Reappearance of an Old Friend 

A fter supper the Lieutenant and Naida danced 
twice together, the young girl’s mood having 
apparently changed to one of buoyant, careless 
happiness, her dark eyes smiling, her lips uttering freely 
whatever thought came uppermost. Outwardly she 
pictured the gay and merry spirit of the night, yet to 
Brant, already observing her with the jealousy of a 
lover, she appeared distrait and restless, her affec- 
tation of abandon a mere mask to her true feelings. 
There was a peculiar watchfulness in her glances 
about the crowded room, while her flushed cheeks, 
and the distinctly false note in her laughter, began to 
trouble him not a little. Perhaps these things might 
have passed unnoted but for their contrast with the 
late confidential chat. 

He could not reconcile this sudden change with 
what he believed of her. It was not carried out 
with the practised art of one accustomed to deceit. 
There must be something real influencing her action. 
These misgivings burdened his mind even as he 
swung lightly with her to the music, and they talked 
together in little snatches. 

He had forgotten Miss Spencer, forgotten every- 
thing else about him, permitting himself to become 
enthralled by this strange girl whose name even he 
[ 195 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


did not know. In every way she had appealed to his 
imagination, awakening his interest, his curiosity, his 
respect, and even now, when some secret seemed to 
sway her conduct, it merely served to strengthen his 
resolve to advance still farther in her regard. There 
are natures which welcome strife; they require op- 
position, difficulty, to develop their real strength. 
Brant was of this breed. The very conception that 
some person, even some inanimate thing, might stand 
between him and the heart of this fair woman acted 
upon him like a stimulant. 

The last of the two waltzes ended, they walked 
slowly through the scattering throng, he striving 
vainly to arouse her to the former independence and 
intimacy of speech. While endeavoring bravely to 
exhibit interest, her mind too clearly wandered, and 
there was borne in slowly upon him the distasteful 
idea that she would prefer being left alone. Brant 
had been secretly hoping it might become his privilege 
to escort her home, but now he durst not breathe the 
words of such a request. Something indefinable had 
arisen between them which held the man dumb 
and nerveless. Suddenly they came face to face 
with Mrs. Herndon, and Brant felt the girl’s arm 
twitch. 

I have been looking everywhere for you, Naida,” 
Mrs. Herndon said, a slight complaint in her voice. 
“We were going home.” 

Naida’s cheeks reddened painfully. 

“ I am so sorry if I have kept you waiting,” her 
words spoken with a rush, “ but — but. Lieutenant 
[196] 


AN OLD FRIEND 


Brant was intending to accompany me. We were 
just starting for the cloak-room.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” Mrs. Herndon’s expression was 
noncommittal, while her eyes surveyed the lieutenant. 

With your permission, of course,” he said. 

“ I hardly think I have any need to interfere.” 

They separated, the younger people walking 
slowly, silently toward the door. He held her arm, 
assisting her to descend the stairway, his lips murmur- 
ing a few commonplaces, to which she scarcely 
returned even monosyllabic replies, although she fre- 
quently flashed shy glances at his grave face. Both 
realized that some explanation was forthcoming, yet 
neither was quite prepared to force the issue. 

I have no wraps at the hotel,” she said, as he 
attempted to turn that way. ‘^That was a lie also ; let 
us walk directly down the road.” 

He indulged in no comment, his eyes perceiving 
a pathetic pleading in her upturned face, Suddenly 
there came to him a belief that the girl was crying ; he 
could feel the slight tremor of her form against his 
own. He glanced furtively at her, only to catch the 
glitter of a falling tear. To her evident distress, his 
heart made instant and sympathetic response. With 
all respect influencing the action, his hand closed 
warmly over the smaller one on his sleeve. 

Little girl,” he said, forgetting the shortness of 
their acquaintance in the deep feeling of the moment, 
“ tell me what the trouble is.” 

I suppose you think me an awful creature for 
saying that,” she blurted out, without looking up. 

[197] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


'‘It wasn’t ladylike or nice, but — but I simply 
could n’t help it, Lieutenant Brant.” 

“You mean your sudden determination to carry 
me home with you ? ” he asked, relieved to think this 
might prove the entire difficulty. “ Don’t let that 
worry you. Why, I am simply rejoiced at being per- 
mitted to go. Do you know, I wanted to request the 
privilege all the time we were dancing together. But 
you acted so differently from when we were beneath 
the vines that I actually lost my nerve.” 

She looked up, and he caught a fleeting glimpse 
into her unveiled eyes. 

“ I did not wish you to ask me.” 

“What?” He stopped suddenly. “Why then 
did you make such an announcement to Mrs. 
Herndon ? ” 

“ Oh, that was different,” she explained, uneasily. 
“ I had to do that ; I had to trust you to help me out, 
but — but I really wanted to go home alone.” 

He swept his unbelieving eyes around over the 
deserted night scene, not knowing what answer to 
return to so strange an avowal. “Was that what 
caused you to appear so distant to me in the hall, so 
vastly different from what you had been before ? ” 

She nodde'd, but with her gaze still upon the 
ground. 

“ Miss Naida,” he said, “it would be cowardly for 
me to attempt to dodge this issue between us. Is it 
because you do not like me ? ” 

She looked up quickly, the moonlight revealing 
her flushed face. 


[198] 


AN OLD FRIEND 


“ Oh, no, no ! you must never think that. I told 
you I was a girl of moods ; under those vines I had 
one mood, in the hall another. Cannot you under- 
stand ? ” 

‘‘ Very little,*' he admitted, ‘^for I am more inclined 
to believe you are the possessor of a strong will 
than that you are swayed by moods. Listen. If I 
thought that a mere senseless mood had caused your 
peculiar treatment of me to-night, I should feel justified 
in yielding to a mood also. But I will not lower you 
to that extent in my estimation ; I prefer to believe 
that you are the true-hearted, frankly spoken girl of 
the vine shadow. It is this abiding conviction as to 
your true nature which holds me loyal to a test. 
Miss Naida, is it now your desire that I leave you?" 

He stepped aside, relinquishing her arm, his hat 
in hand, but she did not move from where he left her. 

^Ht — it hurts me,** she faltered, “for I truly desire 
you to think in that way of me, and I — I don't 
know what is best to do. If I tell you why I 
wished to come alone, you might misunderstand ; and 
if I refuse, then you will suspect wrong, and go away 
despising me." 

“ I sincerely wish you might repose sufficient 
confidence in me as a gentleman to believe I never 
betray a trust, never pry into a lady's secret." 

“ Oh, I do. Lieutenant Brant. It is not doubt of 
you at all ; but I am not sure, even within my own 
heart, that I am doing just what is right. Besides, it 
will be so difficult to make you, almost a stranger, 
comprehend the peculiar conditions which influence my 

[199] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


action. Even now you suspect that I am deceitful — 
a masked sham like those others we discussed 
to-night; but I have never played a part before, 
never skulked in the dark. To-night I simply had 
to do it.’' 

Her voice was low and pleading, her eyes an 
appeal; and Brant could not resist the impulse to 
comfort. 

‘‘Then attempt no explanation,” he said, gently, 
“and believe me, I shall continue to trust you. To- 
night, whatever your wish may be, I will abide by it. 
Shall I go, or stay? In either case you have nothing 
to fear.” 

She drew a deep breath, these open words of faith 
touching her more strongly than would any selfish 
fault-finding. 

“Trust begets trust,” she replied, with new firm- 
ness, and now gazing frankly into his face. “You can 
walk with me a portion of the way if you wish, but I 
am going to tell you the truth, — I have an appoint- 
ment with a man.” 

“I naturally regret to learn this,” he said, with 
assumed calmness. “ But the way is so lonely I pre- 
fer walking with you until you have some other pro- 
tector.” 

She accepted his proffered arm, feeling the con- 
straint in his tone, the formality in his manner, most 
keenly. An older woman might have resented it, 
but it only served to sadden and embarrass her. He 
began speaking of the quiet beauty of the night, but 
she had no thought of what he was saying. 

[200] 


AN OLD FRIEND 


Lieutenant Brant/’ she said, at last, you do not 
ask me who the man is.” 

“Certainly not. Miss Naida; it is none of my 
business.” 

“ I think, perhaps, it might be ; the knowledge 
might help you to .understand. It is Bob Hampton.” 

He stared at her. “The gambler? No wonder, 
then, your meeting is clandestine.” 

She replied indignantly, her lips trembling. “ He 
is not a gambler ; he is a miner, over in the Black 
Range. He has not touched a card in two years.” 

“Oh, reformed has he? And are you the instru- 
ment that has worked such a miracle? ” 

Her eyes fell. “ I don’t know, but I hope so.” 
Then she glanced up again, wondering at his continued 
silence. “ Don’t you understand yet? ” 

“ Only that you are secretly meeting a man of the 
worst reputation, one known the length and breadth 
of this border as a gambler and fighter.” 

“Yes; but — but don’t you know who I am?” 

He smiled grimly, wondering what possible differ- 
ence that could make. “ Certainly ; you are Miss 
Naida Herndon.” 

“I? You have not known? Lieutenant Brant, 
I am Naida Gillis.” 

He stopped still, again facing her. “ Naida Gillis ? 
Do you mean old Gillis’s girl? Is it possible you are 
the same we rescued on the prairie two years ago ? ” 

She bowed her head. “ Yes ; do you understand 
now why I trust this Bob Hampton ? ” 

“ I perhaps might comprehend why you should 
[201] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


feel grateful to him, but not why you should thus con- 
sent to meet with him clandestinely.” 

He could not see the deep flush upon her cheeks, 
but he was not deaf to the pitiful falter in her voice. 

Because he has been good and true to me,” she 
explained, frankly, ‘‘ better than anybody else in all the 
world. I don’t care what you say, you and those 
others who do not know him, but I believe in him ; I 
think he is a man. They won’t let me see him, the 
Herndons, nor permit him to come to the house. He 
has not been in Glencaid for two years, until yesterday. 
The Indian rising has driven all the miners out from 
the Black Range, and he came down here for no other 
purpose than to get a glimpse of me, and learn how I 
was getting on. I — I saw him over at the hotel just 
for a moment — Mrs. Guffy handed me a note — and 
I — I had only just left him when I encountered you 
at the door. I wanted to see him again, to talk with 
him longer, but I could n’t manage to get away from 
you, and I didn’t know what to do. There, Tv^. told 
it all ; do you really think I am so very bad, because 
— because I like Bob Hampton?” 

He stood a moment completely nonplussed, yet 
compelled to answer. 

‘‘ I certainly have no right to question your mo- 
tives,” he said, at last, “ and I believe your purposes 
to be above reproach. I wish I might give the same 
credit to this man Hampton. But, Miss Naida, the 
world does not often consent to judge us by our own 
estimation of right and wrong; it prefers to place its 
own interpretation on acts, and thus often condemns 
[202] 


AN OLD FRIEND 


the innocent. Others might not see this as I do, nor 
have such unquestioning faith in you.” 

I know,” she admitted, stubbornly, ‘‘ but I 
wanted to see him ; I have been so lonely for him, 
and this was the only possible way.” 

Brant felt a wave of uncontrollable sympathy sweep 
across him, even while he was beginning to hate this 
man, who, he felt, had stolen a passage into the 
innocent heart of a girl not half his age, one knowing 
little of the ways of the world. He saw again that 
bare desert, with those two half-dead figures clasped 
in each other’s arms, and felt that he understood 
the whole miserable story of a girl’s trust, a man’s 
perfidy. 

“May I walk beside you until you meet him ^ ” 
he asked. 

“ You will not quarrel ? ” 

“ No ; at least not through any fault of mine.” 

A few steps in the moonlight and she again took 
his arm, although they scarcely spoke. At the bridge 
she withdrew her hand and uttered a peculiar call, and 
Hampton stepped forth from the concealing hushes, 
his head bare, his hat in his hand. 

“ I scarcely thought it could be you,” he said, 
seemingly not altogether satisfied, “ as you were accom- 
panied by another.” 

The younger man took a single step forward, his 
uniform showing in the moonlight. “ Miss Gillis will 
inform you later why I am here,” he said, striving to 
speak civilly. “You and I, however, have met before — 
I am Lieutenant Brant, of the Seventh Cavalry.” 

[203] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Hampton bowed, his manner somewhat stiff and 
formal, his face inpenetrable. 

I should have left Miss Gillis previous to her 
meeting with you,** Brant continued, “ but I desired 
to request the privilege of calling upon you to-morrow 
for a brief interview.** 

“ With pleasure.** 

“ Shall it be at ten ? ** 

‘‘The hour is perfectly satisfactory. You will find 
me at the hotel.** 

“You place me under obligations,** said Brant, 
and turned toward the wondering girl. “ I will now 
say good-night. Miss Gillis, and I promise to remem- 
ber only the pleasant events of this evening.** 

Their hands met for an instant of warm pressure, 
and then the two left behind stood motionless and 
watched him striding along the moonlit road. 


[204] 


CHAPTER IX 
The Verge of a Quarrel 

B RANT'S mind was a chaos of conflicting emo- 
tions, but a single abiding conviction never once 
left him — he retained implicit faith in her, and 
he purposed to fight this matter out with Hampton. 
Even in that crucial hour, had any one ventured to 
suggest that he was in love with Naida, he would 
merely have laughed, serenely confident that nothing 
more than gentlemanly interest swayed his conduct. 
It was true, he greatly admired the girl, recalled to 
memory her every movement, her slightest glance, 
her most insignificant word, while her marvellous eyes 
constantly haunted him, yet the dawn of love was not 
even faintly acknowledged. 

N evertheless, he manifested an unreasonable dislike 
for Hampton. He had never before felt thus toward 
this person; indeed, he had possessed a strong man’s 
natural admiration for the other’s physical power and 
cool, determined courage. He now sincerely feared 
Hampton’s power over the innocent mind of the girl, 
imagining his influence to be much stronger than it 
really was, and he sought after some suitable means 
for overcoming it. He had no faith in this man’s 
professed reform, no abiding confidence in his word of 
honor; and it seemed to him then that the entire 
future of the young woman’s life rested upon his 
[205] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


deliverance of her from the toils of the gambler. He 
alone, among those who might be considered as her 
true friends, knew the secret of her infatuation, and 
upon him alone, therefore, rested the burden of her 
release. It was his heart that drove him into such 
a decision, although he conceived it then to be the rea- 
soning of the brain. 

And so she was Naida Gillis, poor old Gillis’s lit- 
tle girl ! He stopped suddenly in the road, striving to 
realize the thought. He had never once dreamed of 
such a consummation, and it staggered him. His 
thought drifted back to that pale-faced, red-haired, 
poorly dressed slip of a girl whom he had occasionally 
viewed with disapproval about the post-trader’s store 
at Bethune, and it seemed simply an impossibility. 
He recalled the unconscious, dust-covered, nameless 
waif he had once held on his lap beside the Bear 
Water. What was there in common between that 
outcast, and this well-groomed, frankly spoken young 
woman ? Yet, whoever she was or had been, the re- 
membrance of her could not be conjured out of his 
brain. He might look back with repugnance upon 
those others, those misty phantoms of the past, but 
tbe vision of his mind, his ever-changeable divinity of 
the vine shadows, would not become obscured, nor 
grow less fascinating. Let her be whom she might, no 
other could ever win that place she occupied in his 
heart. His mind dwelt upon her flushed cheeks, her 
earnest face, her wealth of glossy hair, her dark eyes 
filled with mingled roguery and thoughtfulness, — in 
utter unconsciousness that he was already her humble 
[206] 


THE VERGE OF A QUARREL 

slave. Suddenly there occurred to him a recollection 
of Silent Murphy, and his strange, unguarded remark. 
What could the fellow have meant Was there, in- 
deed, some secret in the life history of this young 
girl? — some story of shame, perhaps? If so, did 
Hampton know about it ? 

Already daylight rested white and solemn over the 
silent valley, and only a short distance away lay the 
spot where the crippled scout had made his solitary 
camp. Almost without volition the young officer 
turned that way, crossed the stream by means of the 
log, and clambered up the bank. But it was clear at 
a glance that Murphy had deserted the spot. Con- 
vinced of this, Brant retraced his steps toward the 
camp of his own troop, now already astir with the 
duties of early morning. Just in front of his tent he 
encountered his first sergeant. 

Watson,” he questioned, as the latter saluted and 
stood at attention, “ do you know a man called Silent 
Murphy ? ” 

‘‘The scout? Yes, sir; knew him as long ago as 
when he was corporal in your father's troop. He was 
reduced to the ranks for striking an officer.” 

Brant wheeled in astonishment. “Was he ever a 
soldier in the Seventh? ” 

“He was that, for two enlistments, and a mighty 
tough one ; but he was always quick enough for a fight 
in field or garrison.” 

“ Has he shown himself here at the camp ? ” 

“No, sir; didn't know he was anywhere around 
He and I were never very good friends, sir.” 

[207] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The lieutenant remained silent for several mo- 
ments, endeavoring to perfect some feasible plan. 

“ Despatch an orderly to the telegraph-office,’' he 
finally commanded, to inquire if this man Murphy 
receives any messages there, and if they know where 
he is stopping. Send an intelligent man, and have 
him discover all the facts he can. When he returns 
bring him in to me.” 

He had enjoyed a bath and a shave, and was yet 
lingering over his coffee, when the two soldiers entered 
with their report. The sergeant stepped aside, and 
the orderly, a tall, boyish-looking fellow with a pugna- 
cious chin, saluted stiffly. 

“Well, Bane,” and the officer eyed his trim ap- 
pearance with manifest approval, “ what did you 
succeed in learning ? ” 

“The operator said this yere Murphy hed never 
bin thar himself, sir, but there wus several messages 
come fer him. One got here this mornin*. ” 

“ What becomes of them ? ” 

“They’re called fer by another feller, sir.” 

“ Oh, they are ! Who ? ” 

“ Red Slavin wus the name he give me of thet 
other buck.” 

When the two had disappeared, Brant sat back 
thinking rapidly. There was a mystery here, and 
such actions must have a cause. Something either in 
or about Glencaid was compelling Murphy to keep out 
of sight — but what? Who? Brant was unable to 
get it out of his head that all this secrecy centred 
around Naida. With those incautiously spoken 
[208] 


THE VERGE OF A QUARREL 


words as a clew, he suspected that Murphy knew 
something about her, and that knowledge was the 
cause for his present erratic actions. Perhaps Hamp- 
ton knew; at least he might possess some additional 
scrap of information which would help to solve the 
problem. He looked at his watch, and ordered his 
horse to be saddled. 

It did not seem quite so simple now, this pro- 
jected interview with Hampton, as it had appeared the 
night before. In the clear light of day, he began to 
realize the weakness of his position, the fact that he 
possessed not the smallest right to speak on behalf 
of Naida Gillis. He held no relationship whatsoever 
to her, and should he venture to assume any, it was 
highly probable the older man would laugh contempt- 
uously in his face. Brant knew better than to believe 
Hampton would ever let go unless he was obliged to 
do so ; he comprehended the impotence of threats on 
such ^ character, as well as his probable indifference 
to moral obligations. Nevertheless, the die was cast, 
and perhaps, provided an open quarrel could be 
avoided, the meeting might result in good to all 
concerned. 

Hampton welcomed him with distant but marked 
courtesy, having evidently thought out his own im- 
mediate plan of action, and schooled himself accord- 
ingly. Standing there, the bright light streaming over 
them from the open windows, they presented two widely 
contrasting personalities, yet each exhibiting in figure 
and face the evidences of hard training and iron dis- 
cipline. Hampton was clothed in black, standing 
[209] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


straight as an arrow, his shoulders squared, his head 
held proudly erect, while his cool gray eyes studied 
the face of the other as he had been accustomed to sur- 
vey his opponents at the card-table. Brant looked the 
picture of a soldier on duty, trim, well built, erect, his 
resolute blue eyes never flinching from the steady gaze 
bent upon him, his bronzed young face grave from the 
seriousness of his mission. Neither was a man to 
temporize, to mince words, or to withhold blows; yet 
each instinctively felt that this was an occasion rather 
for self-restraint. In both minds the same thought 
lingered — the vague wonder how much the other 
knew. The elder man, however, retained the better 
self-control, and was first to break the silence.’ 

“ Miss Gillis informed me of your kindness to her 
last evening,” he said, quietly, “and in her behalf I 
sincerely thank you. Permit me to offer you a chair.” 

Brant accepted it, and sat down, feeling the calm tone 
of proprietorship in the words of the other as if they 
had been a blow. His face flushed, yet he spoke 
firmly. “Possibly I misconstrue your meaning,” he 
said, with some bluntness, determined to reach the gist 
of the matter at once. “ Did Miss Gillis authorize 
you to thank me for these courtesies? ” 

Hampton smiled with provoking calmness, holding 
an unlighted cigar between his fingers. “Why, really, 
as to that I do not remember. I merely mentioned 
it as expressing the natural gratitude of us both.” 

“You speak as if you possessed full authority to 
express her mind as well as your own.” 

The other bowed gravely, his face impassive, 
[aio] 


THE VERGE OF A QUARREL 


My words would quite naturally bear some such 
construction/* 

The officer hesitated, feeling more doubtful than 
ever regarding his own position. Chagrined, dis- 
armed, he felt like a prisoner standing bound before 
his mocking captor. “ Then I fear my mission here 
is useless.** 

“Entirely so, if you come for the purpose I 
suspect,** said Hampton, sitting erect in his chair, and 
speaking with more rapid utterance. “To lecture me 
on morality, and demand my yielding up all influence 
over this girl, — such a mission is assured of failure. 
I have listened with some degree of calmness in this 
room already to one such address, and surrendered 
to its reasoning. But permit me to say quite plainly. 
Lieutenant Brant, that you are not the person from 
whom I will quietly listen to another.** 

“ I had very little expectation that you would.** 

“You should have had still less, and remained 
away entirely. However, now that you are here, and 
the subject broached, it becomes my turn to say some- 
thing, and to say it clearly. It seems to me you would 
exhibit far better taste and discrimination if from now 
on you would cease forcing your attentions upon 
Miss Gillis.** 

Brant leaped to his feet, but the other never 
deigned to alter his position. 

“Forcing my attentions!** exclaimed the officer. 
“ God*s mercy, man 1 do you realize what you are 
saying? I have forced no attentions upon Miss 
Gillis.’* 

[c-Il] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘ My reference was rather to future possibilities. 
Young blood is proverbially hot, and I thought it 
wise to warn you in time.” 

Brant stared into that imperturbable face, and 
s.omehow the very sight of its calm, inflexible resolve 
served to clear his own brain. He felt that this cool, 
self-controlled man was speaking with authority. 

“Wait just a moment,” he said, at last. “I wish this 
made perfectly clear, and for all time. I met Miss Gillis 
first through pure accident. She impressed me strongly 
then, and I confess I have since grown more deeply 
interested in her personality. I have reasons to sup- 
pose my presence not altogether distasteful to her, and 
she has certainly shown that she reposed confidence in 
me. Not until late last night did I even suspect she 
was the same girl whom we picked up with you out 
on the desert. It came to me from her own lips and 
was a total surprise. She revealed her identity in 
order to justify her proposed clandestine meeting with 
you.” 

“ And hence you requested this pleasant confer- 
ence,” broke in Hampton, coolly, “to inform me, from 
your calm eminence of respectability, that I was no 
fit companion for such a young and innocent person, 
and to warn me that you were prepared to act as her 
protector.” 

Brant slightly inclined his head. 

“ I may have had something of that nature in my 
mind.” 

“ Well, Lieutenant Brant,” and the older man 
rose to his feet, his eyes still smiling, “ some might be 
[a 12] 


THE VERGE OF A QUARREL 

impolite enough to say that it was the conception of a 
cad, but whatever it was, the tables have unexpectedly 
turned. Without further reference to my own personal 
interests in the young lady, which are, however, con- 
siderable, there remain other weighty reasons, that I 
am not at liberty to discuss, which make it simply im- 
possible for you to sustain any relationship to Miss 
Gillis other than that of ordinary social friendship.’' 

“You — you claim the right — ” 

“ I distinctly claim the right, for the reason that I 
possess the right, and no one has ever yet known me 
to relinquish a hold once fairly gained. Lieutenant 
Brant, if I am any judge of faces you are a fighting 
man by nature as well as profession, but there is no 
opportunity for your doing any fighting here. This 
matter is irrevocably settled — Naida Gillis is not for 
you.” 

Brant was breathing hard. “ Do you mean to 
insinuate that there is an understanding, an engage- 
ment between you ? ” he faltered, scarcely knowing 
how best to resent such utterance. 

“ You may place your own construction upon 
what I have said,” was the quiet answer. “The 
special relations existing between Miss Gillis and my- 
self chance to be no business of yours. However, I 
will consent to say this — I do enjoy a relationship to 
her that gives me complete authority to say what I have 
said to you. I regret having been obliged by your 
persistency to speak with such plainness, but this 
knowledge should prove sufficient to control the actions 
of a gentleman.” 


[213] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


For a moment the soldier did not answer, his emo- 
tions far too strong to permit of calm utterance, his 
lips tightly shut. He felt utterly defeated. ‘^Your 
language is sufficiently explicit,” he acknowledged, at 
last. “ I ask pardon for my unwarranted intrusion.” 

At the door he paused and glanced back toward 
that motionless figure yet standing with one hand 
grasping the back of the chair. 

Before I go, permit me to ask a single question,” 
he said, frankly. ‘‘ I was a friend of old Ben Gillis, 
and he was a friend to my father before me. Have 
you any reason to suspect that he was not Naida Gil- 
lis’s father ” 

Hampton took one hasty step forward. ‘‘ What 
do you mean ? ” he exclaimed, fiercely, his eyes two 
coals of fire. 

Brant felt that the other’s display of irritation gave 
him an unexpected advantage. 

‘^Nothing that need awaken anger, I am sure. 
Something caused me to harbor the suspicion, and I 
naturally supposed you would know about it. In- 
deed, I wondered if some such knowledge might not 
account for your very deep interest in keeping her so 
entirely to yourself.” 

Hampton’s fingers twitched in a nervousness 
altogether unusual to the man, yet when he spoke 
his voice was like steel. “Your suspicions are highly 
interesting, and your cowardly insinuations base. 
However, if, as I suppose, your purpose is to provoke 
a quarrel, you will find me quite ready to accommodate 
you.” 

[214] 


THE VERGE OF A QUARREL 


An instant they stood thus, eye to eye. Suddenly 
Brant’s memory veered to the girl whose name would 
be smirched by any blow struck between them, 
and he forced back the hasty retort burning upon 
his lips. 

“You may be, Mr. Hampton,” he said, standing 
like a statue, his back to the door, “ but I am not. 
As you say, fighting is my trade, yet I have never 
sought a personal quarrel. Nor is there any cause 
here, as my only purpose in asking the question was 
to forewarn you, and her through you, that such a 
suggestion had been openly made in my hearing. I 
presume it was a lie, and wished to be able to brand 
it so.” 

“ By whom? ” 

“ A fellow known as Silent Murphy, a govern- 
ment scout.” 

“ I have heard of him. Where is he?” 

“ He claimed to be here waiting orders from 
Custer. He had camp up the Creek two days ago, 
but is keeping well out of sight for some reason. 
Telegrams have been received for him at the office 
but another man has called for them.” 

“ Who ? ” 

“ Red Slavin.” 

“The cur!” said Hampton. “I reckon there is 
a bad half-hour waiting for those two fellows. What 
was it that Murphy said ? ” 

“ That he knew the girl’s real name.” 

“ Was that all ? ” 

“Yes; I tried to discover his meaning, but the 

[215] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


fellow became suspicious and shut up like a clam. Is 
there anything in it } ” 

Hampton ignored the question. ‘‘ Lieutenant 
Brant/' he said, I am glad we have had this talk 
together, and exceedingly sorry that my duty has 
compelled me to say what I have said. Some time, 
however, you will sincerely thank me for it, and re- 
joice that you escaped so easily. I knew your father 
once, and I should like now to part on friendly re- 
lations with his son." 

He held out his hand, and, scarcely knowing why 
he did so, Brant placed his own within its grasp, and as 
the eyes of the two men met, there was a conscious- 
ness of sympathy between them. 


[216] 


CHAPTER X 
A Slight Interruption 

T he young officer passed slowly down the dark 
staircase, his mind still bewildered by the result 
of the interview. His feelings toward Hampton 
had been materially changed. He found it impossible 
to nurse a dislike which seemingly had no real cause 
for existence. He began besides to comprehend some- 
thing of the secret of his influence over Naida; even to 
experience himself the power of that dominating spirit. 
Out of controversy a feeling of respect had been born. 

Yet Brant was far from being satisfied. Little by 
little he realized that he had gained nothing, learned 
nothing. Hampton had not even advanced a direct 
claim ; he had dodged the real issue, leaving the soldier 
in the dark regarding his relationship to Naida, and 
erecting a barrier between the other two. It was a 
masterpiece of defence, puzzling, irritating, seemingly 
impassable. From the consideration of it all, Brant 
emerged with but one thought clearly defined — who- 
ever she might prove to be, whatever was her present 
connection with Hampton, he loved this dark-eyed, 
auburn-haired waif. He knew it now, and never again 
could he doubt it. The very coming of this man into 
the field of contest, and his calm assumption of pro- 
prietorship and authority, had combined to awaken the 
slumbering heart of the young officer. From that 
[217] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


instant Naida Gillis became to him the one and only 
woman in all this world. Ay, and he would fight to 
win her; never confessing defeat until final decision 
came from her own lips. He paused, half inclined to 
retrace his steps and have the matter out. He turned 
just in time to face a dazzling vision of fluffy lace and 
flossy hair beside him in the dimly lighted hall. 

“Oh, Lieutenant Brant and the vision clung to 
his arm tenderly. “ It is such a relief to find that you 
are unhurt. Did — did you kill him ? 

Brant stared. “I — I fear I scarcely comprehend. 
Miss Spencer. I have certainly taken no one’s life. 
What can you mean?” 

“ Oh, I am so glad; and Naida will be, too. I must 
go right back and tell the poor girl, for she is nearly 
distracted. Oh, Lieutenant, is n’t it the most roman- 
tic situation that ever was ? And he is such a myste- 
rious character!” 

“To whom do you refer? Really, I am quite in 
the dark.” 

“ Why, Mr. Hampton, of course. Oh, I know 
all about it. Naida felt so badly over your meeting 
this morning that I just compelled her to confide her 
whole story to me. And didn’t you fight at all ?” 

“ Most assuredly not,” and Brant’s eyes began to 
exhibit amusement ; “ indeed, we parted quite friendly.” 

“ I told Naida I thought you would. People 
don’t take such things so seriously nowadays, do they ? 
But Naida is such a child and so full of romantic 
notions, that she worried terribly about it. Is n’t it 
perfectly delightful what he is going to do for her ? ” 
[218] 


A SLIGHT INTERRUPTION 


“ I am sure I do not know.’' 

Why, had n’t you heard ? He wants to send her 
East to a boarding-school and give her a fine educa- 
tion. Do you know, Lieutenant, I am simply dying to 
see him ; he is such a perfectly splendid Western 
character.” 

“It would afford me pleasure to present you,” 
and the soldier’s downcast face brightened with antici- 
pation. 

“Do — do you really think it would be proper ? 
But they do things so differently out here, don’t they ? 
Oh, I wish you would.” 

Feeling somewhat doubtful as to what might be 
the result, Brant knocked upon the door he had just 
closed, and, in response to the voice within, opened it. 
Hampton sat upon the chair by the window, but as 
his eyes caught a glimpse of the returned soldier with 
a woman standing beside him, he instantly rose to his 
feet. 

“Mr. Hampton,” said Brant, “ I trust I maybe 
pardoned for again troubling you, but this is Miss 
Spencer, a great admirer of Western life, who is desir- 
ous of making your acquaintance.” 

Miss Spencer swept gracefully forward, her cheeks 
flushed, her hand extended. “ Oh, Mr. Hampton, I 
have so wished to meet with you ever since I first read 
your name in Aunt Lydia’s letters — Mrs. Herndon is 
my aunt, you know, — and all about that awful time 
you had with those Indians. You see, I am Naida 
Gillis’s most particular friend, and she tells me so much 
about you. She is such a dear, sweet girl ! She felt 
[219] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


so badly this morning over your meeting with Lieu- 
tenant Brant, fearing you might quarrel ! It was such 
a relief to find him unhurt, but I felt that I must see 
you also, so as to relieve Naida’s mind entirely. I 
have two special friends, Mr. Moffat and Mr. McNeil, 
— perhaps you know them ? — who have told me so 
much about these things. But I do think the story 
of your acquaintance with Naida is the most romantic 
I ever heard of, — exactly like a play on the stage, and 
I could never forgive myself if I failed to meet the 
leading actor. I do not wonder Naida fairly worships 
you.” 

‘‘ I most certainly appreciate your frankly expressed 
interest. Miss Spencer,” he said, standing with her hand 
still retained in his, “ and am exceedingly glad there is 
one residing in this community to whom my peculiar 
merits are apparent. So many are misjudged in this 
world, that it is quite a relief to realize that even one 
is appreciative, and the blessing becomes doubled when 
that one chances to be so very charming a young 
woman.” 

Miss Spencer sparkled instantly, her cheeks rosy. 
“ Oh, how very gracefully you said that ! I do wish 
you would some time tell me about your exploits.* 
Why, Mr. Hampton, perhaps if you were to call upon 
me, you might see Naida, too. I wish you knew Mr. 
Moffat, but as you don’t, perhaps you might come 
with Lieutenant Brant.” 

Hampton bowed. I would hardly venture thus 
to place myself under the protection of Lieutenant 
Brant, although I must confess the former attractions 
[220] 


A SLIGHT INTERRUPTION 


of the Herndon home are now greatly increased. 
From my slight knowledge of Mr. Moffat’s capabili- 
ties, I fear I should be found a rather indifferent enter- 
tainer; yet I sincerely hope we shall meet again at a 
time when I can ‘a tale unfold.’” 

‘‘ How nice that will be, and I am so grateful to 
you for the promise. By-the-bye, only this very 
morning a man stopped me on the street, actually mis- 
taking me for Naida.” 

‘‘What sort of a looking man. Miss Spencer? ” 

“ Large, and heavily set, with a red beard. He 
was exceedingly polite when informed of his mistake, 
and said he merely had a message to deliver to Miss 
Gillis. But he refused to tell it to me.” 

The glances of the two men met, but Brant was 
unable to decipher the meaning hidden within the gray 
eyes. Neither spoke, and Miss Spencer, never real- 
izing what her chatter meant, rattled merrily on. 

“You see there are so many who speak to me now, 
because of my public position here. So I thought 
nothing strange at first, until I discovered his mistake, 
and then it seemed so absurd that I nearly laughed 
outright. Isn’t it odd what such a man could 
possibly want with her? But really, gentlemen, I 
must return with my news ; Naida will be so anxious. 
I am so glad to have met you both.” 

Hampton bowed politely, and Brant conducted 
her silently down the stairway. “ I greatly regret not 
being able to accompany you home,” he explained, 
“ but I came down on horseback, and my duty re- 
quires that I return at once to the camp.” 

[221] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘Oh, indeed! how very unfortunate for me!” 
Even as she said so, some unexpected vision beyond 
flushed her cheeks prettily. “ Why, Mr. Wynkoop,” 
she exclaimed, “ I am so glad you happened along, 
and going my way too, I am sure. Good morning. 
Lieutenant ; I shall feel perfectly safe with Mr. 
Wynkoop.” 


[222] 


CHAPTER XI 

The Door Opens, and Closes Again 

I N one sense Hampton had greatly enjoyed Miss 
Spencer’s call. Her bright, fresh face, her impul- 
sive speech, her unquestioned beauty, had had 
their effect upon him, changing for the time being the 
gloomy trend of his thoughts. She was like a draught 
of pure Spring air, and he had gratefully breathed it in, 
and even longed for more. 

But gradually the slight smile of amusement faded 
from his eyes. Something, which he had supposed lay 
securely hidden behind years and distance, had all at 
once come back to haunt him, — the unhappy ghost 
of an expiated crime, to do evil to this girl Naida. 
Two men, at least, knew sufficient of the past to cause 
serious trouble. This effort by Slavin to hold personal 
communication with the girl was evidently made for 
some definite purpose. Hampton was unable to de- 
cide what that purpose could be. He entertained no 
doubt regarding the enmity of the big gambler, or his 
desire to “ get even ” for all past injuries ; but how 
much did he know? What special benefit did he 
hope to gain from conferring with Naida Gillis? 
Hampton decided to have a face-to-face interview with 
the man himself ; he was accustomed to fight his bat- 
tles in the open, and to a finish. A faint hope, which 
had been growing dimmer and dimmer with every 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


passing year, began to flicker once again within his 
heart. He desired to see this man Murphy, and to 
learn exactly what he knew. 

He had planned his work, and was perfectly pre- 
pared to meet its dangers. He entered the almost 
deserted saloon opposite the hotel, across the thres- 
hold of which he had not stepped for two years, and 
the man behind the bar glanced up apprehensively. 

Red Slavin?” he said. ‘‘Well, now see here, 
Hampton, we don’t want no trouble in this shebang.” 

“ I ’m not here seeking a fight, Jim,” returned the 
inquirer, genially. “ I merely wish to ask ‘ Red ’ an 
unimportant question or two.” 

“He’s there in the back room, I reckon, but he’s 
damn liable to take a pot shot at you when you go in.” 

Hampton’s genial smile only broadened, as he 
carelessly rolled an unlighted cigar between his lips. 

“It seems to me you are becoming rather nervous 
for this line of business, Jim. You should take a 
good walk in the fresh air every morning, and let up 
on the liquor. I assure you, Mr. Slavin is one of my 
most devoted friends, and is of that tender disposition 
he would not willingly injure a fly.” 

He walked to the door, flung it swiftly and silently 
open, and stepping within, closed it behind him with 
his left hand. In the other glittered the steel-blue 
barrel of a drawn revolver. 

“ Slavin, sit down ! ” 

The terse, imperative words seemed fairly to cut 
the air, and the red-bearded gambler, who had half 
[224] 


DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES 


risen to his feet, an oath upon his lips, sank back into 
his seat, staring at the apparition confronting him as 
if fascinated. Hampton jerked a chair up to the 
opposite side of the small table, and planted himself 
on it, his eyes never once deserting the big gambler’s 
face. 

‘‘Put your hands on the table, and keep them 
there ! ” he said. “ Now, my dear friend, I have come 
here in peace, not war, and take these slight precau- 
tions merely because I have heard a rumor that you 
have indulged in a threat or two since we last parted, 
and I know something of your impetuous disposition. 
No doubt this was exaggerated, but I am a careful 
man, and prefer to have the ‘ drop,’ and so I sincerely 
hope you will pardon my keeping you covered 
during what is really intended as a friendly call. I 
regret the necessity, but trust you are resting com- 
fortably.” 

“ Oh, go to hell ! ” 

“We will consider that proposition somewhat 
later.” Hampton laid his hat with calm deliberation 
on the table. “No doubt, Mr. Slavin, — if you 
move that hand again I ’ll fill your system with lead, — 
you experience some very natural curiosity regarding 
the object of my unanticipated, yet I hope no less 
welcome, visit.” 

Slavin’s only reply was a curse, his bloodshot eyes 
roaming the room furtively. 

“ I suspected as much,” Hampton went on, coolly. 
“ Indeed, I should have felt hurt had you been 
indifferent upon such an occasion. It does credit to 
[225] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


your heart, Slavin. Come now, keep your eyes on 
me! I was about to gratify your curiosity, and, in the 
first place, I came to inquire solicitously regarding the 
state of your health during my absence, and incident- 
ally to ask why you are exhibiting so great an interest 
in Miss Naida Gillis/* 

Slavin straightened up, his great hands clinching 
nervously, drops of perspiration appearing on his red 
forehead. “ I don’t understand your damned fun.” 

Hampton’s lips smiled unpleasantly. ‘‘Slavin, 
you greatly discourage me. The last time I was here 
you exhibited so fine a sense of humor that I was 
really quite proud of you. Yet, truly, I think you do 
understand this joke. Your memory can scarcely be 
failing at your age. — Make another motion like that 
and you die right there ! You know me. — However, 
as you seem to shy over my first question, I ’ll honor 
you with a second, — Where ’s Silent Murphy ? ” 

Slavin’s great square jaws set, a froth oozing 
from between his thick lips, and for an instant the 
other man believed that in his paroxysm of rage he 
would hurl himself across the table. Then suddenly 
the ungainly brute went limp, his face grown haggard. 

“You devil!” he roared, “what do you mean ?” 

Surprised as Hampton was by this complete break- 
ing down, he knew his man far too well to yield him 
the slightest opportunity for treachery. With revolver 
hand resting on the table, the muzzle pointing at the 
giant’s heart, he leaned forward, utterly remorseless 
now, and keen as an Indian on the trail. 

“Do you know who I am ? ” 

[226] 


DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES 


The horror in Slavin’s eyes had changed to suJlen- 
ness, but he nodded silently. 

“ How do you know P ” 

There was no reply, although the thick lips 
appeared to move. 

“ Answer me, you red sneak ! Do you think I 
am here to be played with ? Answer !” 

Slavin gulped down something which seemed 
threatening to choke him, but he durst not lift a hand 
to wipe the sweat from his face. “If — if I didn't 
have this beard on you might guess. I thought you 
knew me all the time." 

Hampton stared at him, still puzzled. “ I have 
certainly seen you somewhere. I thought that from 
the first. Where was it?" 

“I was in D Troop, Seventh Cavalry." 

“ D Troop? Brant's troop ? " 

The big gambler nodded. “That's how I knew 
you. Captain," he said, speaking with greater ease, 
“but I never had no reason to say anything about it 
round here. You was allers decent 'nough ter me." 

“Possibly," — and it was plainly evident from his 
quiet tone Hampton had steadied from his first sur- 
prise, — “the boot was on the other leg, and you 
had some good reason not to say anything." 

Slavin did not answer, but he wet his lips with his 
tongue, his eyes on the window. 

“ Who is this fellow Murphy ? " 

“ He was corporal in that same troop, sir." The 
ex-cavalryman dropped insensibly into his old form of 
speech. “He knew you too, and we talked it over, 
[227] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


and decided to keep still, because it was none of our 
affair anyhow/* 

‘‘Where is he now? *’ 

“He left last night with army despatches for 
Cheyenne/* 

Hampton’s eyes hardened perceptibly, and his 
fingers closed more tightly about the butt of his re- 
volver. “You lie, Slavin ! The last message did not 
reach here until this morning. That fellow is hiding 
somewhere in this camp, and the two of you have been 
trying to get at the girl. Now, damn you, what is 
your little game ? ** 

The big gambler was thinking harder then, per- 
haps, than he had ever thought in his life before. He 
was no coward, although there was a yellow, wolfish 
streak of treachery in him, and he read clearly enough 
in the watchful eyes glowing behind that blue steel 
barrel a merciless determination which left him nerve- 
less. He knew Hampton would kill him if he needed 
to do so, but he likewise realized that he was not 
likely to fire until he had gained the information he 
was seeking. Cunning pointed the only safe way out 
from this difficulty. Lies had served his turn well 
before, and he hoped much from them now. If he 
only knew how much information the other possessed, 
it would be easy enough. As he did not, he must 
wield his weapon blindly. 

“You’re makin* a devil of a fuss over little or 
nuthin*,” he growled, simulating a tone of disgust. 
“I never ain’t hed no quarrel with ye, exceptin’ fer the 
way ye managed ter skin me at the table bout two 
[228] 


DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES 


years ago. I don’t give two screeches in hell for who 
you are ; an’ besides, I reckon you ain’t the only ex- 
convict a-ranging Dakota either fer the matter o’ that. 
No more does Murphy. We ain’t no bloomin’ 
detectives, an’ we ain ’t buckin’ in on no business o’ 
yourn ; ye kin just bet your sweet life on thet.” 

‘‘ Where is Murphy, then ? I wish to see the 
fellow.” 

‘‘I told you he’d gone. Maybe he didn’t git 
away till this mornin’, but he’s gone now all right. 
What in thunder do ye want o’ him ? I reckon I kin 
tell ye all thet Murphy knows.” 

For a breathless moment neither spoke, Hampton 
fingering his gun nervously, his eyes lingering on that 
brutal face. 

“ Slavin,” he said at last, his voice hard, metallic. 

I ’ve figured it out, and I do know you now, you 
lying brute. You are the fellow who swore you saw 
me throw away the gun that did the shooting, and 
that afterwards you picked it up.” 

There was the spirit of murder in his eyes, and 
the gambler cowered back before them, trembling like 
a child. 

— I only swore to the last part, Captain,” he 
muttered, his voice scarcely audible. “I — I never 
said I saw you throw — ” 

‘‘And I swore,” went on Hampton, “that I 
would kill you on sight. You lying whelp, are you 
ready to die ? ” 

Slavin’s face was drawn and gray, the perspiration 
standing in beads upon his forehead, but he could 
[229] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


neither speak nor think, fascinated by those remorse- 
less eyes, which seemed to burn their way down into 
his very soul. 

‘^No? Well, then, I will give you, to-day, just 
one chance to live — one, you dog — one. Don’t 
move an eyelash ! Tell me honestly why you have 
been trying to get word with the girl, and you shall 
go out from here living. Lie to me about it, and I 
am going to kill you where you sit, as I would a mad 
dog. You know me, Slavin — now speak ! ” 

So intensely still was it, Hampton could distinguish 
the faint ticking of the watch in his pocket, the hiss 
of the breath between the giant’s clinched teeth. Twice 
the fellow tried to utter something, his lips shaking as 
with the palsy, his ashen face the picture of terror. No 
wretch dragged shrieking to the scaffold could have 
formed a more pitiful sight, but there was no mercy in 
the eyes of the man watching him. 

“ Speak, you cringing hound ! ” 

Slavin gripped his great hands together convul- 
sively, his throat swelling beneath its red beard. He 
knew there was no way of escape. “I — 1 had to do 
it ! My God, Captain, I had to do it ! ” 

Why ? ” 

“ I had to, I tell you. Oh, you devil, you fiend ! 
Lm not the one you’re after — it’s Murphy !” 

For a single moment Hampton stared at the 
cringing figure. Then suddenly he rose to his feet in 
decision. Stand up ! Lift your hands first, you 
fool. Now unbuckle your gun-belt with your left 
hand — your left, I said ! Drop it on the floor.” 

[230] 


DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES 


There was an unusual sound behind, such as a rat 
might have made, and Hampton glanced aside appre- 
hensively. In that single second Slavin was upon 
him, grasping his pistol-arm at the wrist, and striving 
with hairy hand to get a death-grip about his throat. 
Twice Hampton’s left drove straight out into that 
red, gloating face, and then the giant’s crushing weight 
bore him backward. He fought savagely, silently, his 
slender figure like steel, but Slavin got his grip at last, 
and with giant strength began to crunch his victim 
within his vise-like arms. There was a moment of 
superhuman strain, their breathing mere sobs of ex- 
haustion. Then Slavin slipped, and Hampton suc- 
ceeded in wriggling partially free from his death-grip. 
It was for scarcely an instant, yet it served ; for as he 
bent aside, swinging his burly opponent with him, 
some one struck a vicious blow at his back ; but the 
descending knife, missing its mark, sunk instead deep 
into Slavin’s breast. 

Hampton saw the flash of a blade, a hand, a por- 
tion of an arm, and then the clutching fingers of Slavin 
swept him down. He reached out blindly as he fell, 
his hand closing about the deserted knife-hilt. The 
two crashed down together upon the floor, the force 
of the fall driving the blade home to the gambler’s 
heart. 


CHAPTER XII 
The Cohorts of Judge Lynch 

H ampton staggered blindly to his feet, look- 
ing down on the motionless body. He was 
yet dazed from the sudden cessation of struggle, 
dazed still more by something he had seen in the 
instant that deadly knife flashed past him. For a 
moment the room appeared to swim before his eyes, 
and he clutched at the overturned table for support. 
Then, as his senses returned, he perceived the figures 
of a number of men jamming the narrow doorway, and 
became aware of their loud, excited voices. Back to 
his benumbed brain there came with a rush the whole 
scene, the desperation of his present situation. He 
had been found alone with the dead man. Those 
men, when they came surging in attracted by the noise 
of strife, had found him lying on Slavin, his hand 
clutching the knife-hilt. He ran his eyes over their 
horrified faces, and knew instantly they held him 
the murderer. 

The shock of this discovery steadied him. He 
realized the meaning, the dread, terrible meaning, for he 
knew the West, its fierce, implacable spirit of ven- 
geance, its merciless code of lynch-law. The vigilantes 
of the mining camps were to him an old story ; more 
than once he had witnessed their work, been cognizant 
of their power. This was no time to parley or to 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


hesitate. He had seen and heard in that room that 
which left him eager to live, to be free, to open a long- 
closed door hiding the mystery of years. The key, at 
last, had fallen almost within reach of his fingers, and 
he would never consent to be robbed of it by the wild 
rage of a mob. He grabbed the loaded revolver lying 
upon the floor, and swung Slavin*s discarded belt 
across his shoulder. If it was to be a fight, he would 
be found there to the death, and God have mercy on 
the man who stopped him ! 

“ Stand aside, gentlemen,'’ he commanded. “ Step 
back, and let me pass ! " 

They obeyed. He swept them with watchful eyes, 
stepped past, and slammed the door behind him. In 
his heart he held them as curs, but curs could snap, 
and enough of them might dare to pull him down. 
Men were already beginning to pour into the saloon, 
uncertain yet of the facts, and shouting questions to 
each other. Totally ignoring these, Hampton thrust 
himself recklessly through the crowd. Half-way 
down the broad steps Buck Mason faced him, in shirt 
sleeves, his head uncovered, an ugly 45 " in his up- 
lifted hand. Just an instant the eyes of the two men 
met, and neither doubted the grim purpose of the other. 

“You've got ter do it. Bob," announced the mar- 
shal, shortly, “ dead er alive." 

Hampton never hesitated. “ I 'm sorry I met 
you. I don't want to get anybody else mixed up in 
this fuss. If you'll promise me a chance for my life. 
Buck, I 'll throw up my hands. But I prefer a bullet 
to a mob." 

[233] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The little marshal was sandy-haired, freckle-faced, 
and all nerve. He cast one quick glance to left and 
right. The crowd jammed within the Occidental had 
already turned and were surging toward the door ; the 
hotel opposite was beginning to swarm; down the street 
a throng of men was pouring forth from the Miners' 
Retreat, yelling fiercely, while hurrying figures could 
be distinguished here and there among the scattered 
buildings, all headed in their direction. Hampton 
knew from long experience what this meant ; these 
were the quickly inflamed cohorts of Judge Lynch — 
they would act first, and reflect later. His square 
jaws set like a trap. 

‘‘All right. Bob," said the marshal. “You're 
my prisoner, and there 'll be one hell of a fight afore 
them lads git ye. There 's a chance left — leg it after 
me." 

Just as the mob surged out of the Occidental, 
cursing and struggling, the two sprang forward and 
dashed into the narrow space between the livery-stable 
and the hotel. Moff*at chanced to be in the passage- 
way, and pausing to ask no questions. Mason promptly 
landed that gentleman on the back of his head in a 
pile of discarded tin cans, and kicked viciously at a 
yellow dog which ventured to snap at them as they 
swept past. Behind arose a volley of curses, the thud 
of feet, an occasional voice roaring out orders, and a 
sharp spat of revolver shots. One ball plugged into 
the siding of the hotel, and a second threw a spit of 
sand into their lowered faces, but neither man glanced 
back. They were running for their lives now, racing 

[234] 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


for a fair chance to turn at bay and fight, their sole 
hope the steep, rugged hill in their front. Hampton 
began to understand the purpose of his companion, 
the quick, unerring instinct which had led him to se- 
lect the one suitable spot where the successful waging 
of battle against such odds was possible — the deserted 
dump of the old Shasta mine. 

With every nerve strained to the uttermost, the 
two men raced side by side down the steep slope, 
ploughed through the tangled underbrush, and toiled 
up the sharp ascent beyond. Already their pursuers 
were crowding the more open spaces below, incited by 
that fierce craze for swift vengeance which at times 
sweeps even the law-abiding off their feet. Little bet- 
ter than brutes they came howling on, caring only in 
this moment to strike and slay. The whole affair had 
been like a flash of fire, neither pursuers nor pursued 
realizing the half of the story in those first rapid sec- 
onds of breathless action. But back yonder lay a 
dead man, and every instinct of the border demanded 
a victim in return. 

At the summit of the ore dump the two men 
flung themselves panting down, for the first time able 
now to realize what it all meant. They could perceive 
the figures of their pursuers among the shadows of the 
bushes below, but these were not venturing out into 
the open — the first mad, heedless rush had evidently 
ended. There were some cool heads among the mob 
leaders, and it was highly probable that negotiations 
would be tried before that crowd hurled itself against 
two desperate men, armed and entrenched. Both 

[235] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


fugitives realized this, and lay there coolly watchful, 
their breath growing more regular, their eyes softening. 

“ Whut is all this fuss about, anyhow ? ” questioned 
the marshal, evidently somewhat aggrieved. “ I wus 
just eatin' dinner when a feller stuck his head in an' 
yelled ye 'd killed somebody over at the Occidental." 
Hampton turned his face gravely toward him. 

Buck, I don’t know whether you ’ll believe me or 
not, but I guess you never heard me tell a lie, or 
knew of my trying to dodge out of a bad scrape. Be- 
sides, I have n ’t anything to gain now, for I reckon 
you ’re planning to stay with me, guilty or not guilty, 
but I did not kill that fellow. 1 don’t exactly see how 
I can prove it, the way it all happened, but I give 
you my word as a man, I did not kill him.’’ 

Mason looked him squarely in the eyes, tiis teeth 
showing behind his stiff, closely clipped mustache. 
Then he deliberately extended his hand, and gripped 
Hampton’s. ‘‘ Of course I believe ye. Not that 
you ’re any too blame good. Bob, but you ain’t the 
kind what pleads the baby act. Who was the feller? ’’ 
“ Red Slavin.’’ 

“ No ! ’’ and the hand grip perceptibly tightened. 
‘‘Holy Moses, what ingratitude! Why, the camp 
ought to get together and give ye a vote of thanks, 
and instead, here they are trying their level best to 
hang you. Cussedest sorter thing a mob is, anyhow ; 
goes like a flock o’ sheep after a leader, an’ I bet I 
could name the fellers who are a-runnin’ that crowd. 
How did the thing happen? ’’ 

Both men were intently observing the ingathering 

[236] 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


of their scattered pursuers, but Hampton answered 
gravely, telling his brief story with careful detail, ap- 
preciating the importance of reposing full confidence 
in this quiet, resourceful companion. The little 
marshal was all grit, nerve, faithfulness to duty, from 
his head to his heels. 

“All I really saw of the fellow,” he concluded, 
“was a hand and arm as they drove in the knife. 
You can see there where it ripped me, and the unex- 
pected blow of the man’s body knocked me forward, 
and of course I fell on Slavin. It may be I drove 
the point farther in when 1 came down, but that was 
an accident. The fact is, Buck, I had every reason to 
wish Slavin to live. I was just getting out of him 
some information I needed.” 

Mason nodded, his eyes wandering from Hamp- 
ton’s expressive face to the crowd beginning to collect 
beneath the shade of a huge oak a hundred yards 
below. 

“ Never carry a knife, do ye ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Thought not; always heard you fought with a 
gun. Caught no sight of the feller after ye got up ? ” 

“ All I saw then was the crowd blocking the door- 
way. I knew they had caught me lying on Slavin, 
with my hand grasping the knife-hilt, and, someway, I 
could n’t think of anything just then but how to get 
out of there into the open. I ’ve seen vigilantes 
turn loose before, and knew what was likely to 
happen ! ” 

“ Sure. Recognize anybody in that first bunch ? ” 

[237] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ Big Jim, the bartender, was the only one I knew; 
he had a bung-starter in his hand/* 

Mason nodded thoughtfully, his mouth puckered. 
“ It*s him, and half a dozen other fellers of the same 
stripe, who are kickin’ up all this fracas. The most 
of ’em are yonder now, an’ if it wus n’t fer leavin’ 
a prisoner unprotected, darn me if I wudn’t like to 
mosey right down thar an’ pound a little boss sense 
into thet bunch o’ cattle. Thet’s ’bout the only thing 
ye kin do fer a plum fool, so long as the law won’t let 
ye kill him.” 

They lapsed into contemplative silence, each man 
busied with his own thought, and neither perceiving 
clearly any probable way out of the difficulty. Hamp- 
ton spoke first. 

I ’m really sorry that you got mixed up in this. 
Buck, for it looks to me about nine chances out of ten 
against either of us getting away from here unhurt.” 

‘‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s bin my experience thet 
there ’s allers chances if you only keep yer eyes skinned. 
Of course them fellers has got the bulge ; they kin 
starve us out, maybe they kin smoke us out, and they 
kin sure make things unpleasant whenever they git 
their long-range guns to throwin’ lead permiscous. 
Thet ’s their side of the fun. Then, on the other hand, 
if we kin only manage to hold ’em back till after dark 
we maybe might creep away through the bush to take 
a hand in this little game. Anyhow, it ’s up to us to 
play it out to the limit. Bless my eyes, if those lads 
ain’t a-comin’ up right now ! ” 

A half-dozen men were starting to climb the hillside, 

[238] 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


following a dim trail through the tangled under- 
brush. Looking down upon them, it was impossible 
to distinguish their faces, but two among them, at least, 
carried firearms. Mason stepped up on to the ore- 
dump where he could see better, and watched their 
movements closely. 

‘‘ Hi, there ! ’’ he called, his voice harsh and strident. 
‘‘You fellers are not invited to this picnic, an’ there’ll 
be somethin’ doin’ if you push along any higher.” 

The little bunch halted instantly just without the 
edge of the heavy timber, turning their faces up toward 
the speaker. Evidently they expected to be hailed, 
but not quite so soon. 

“ Now, see here. Buck,” answered one, taking a 
single step ahead of the others, and hollowing his hand 
as a trumpet to speak through, “ it don’t look to us 
fellers as if this affair was any of your funeral, nohow, 
and we ’ve come 'long ahead of the others just on pur- 
pose to give you a fair show to pull out of it afore the 
real trouble begins. SaheV' 

“ Is thet so ? ” 

The little marshal was too far away for them to 
perceive how his teeth set beneath the bristly mus- 
tache. 

“You bet! The boys don’t consider thet it’s 
hardly the square deal your takin’ up agin ’em in this 
way. They ’lected you marshal of this yere camp, but 
it war n’t expected you’d ever take no sides 'long with 
murderers. Thet’s too stiff fer us to abide by. So 
come on down. Buck, an’ leave us to attend to the 

[239] 


cuss. 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘ If you mean Hampton, he's my prisoner. Will 
you promise to let me take him down to Cheyenne fer 
trial ? ” 

“ Wal, I reckon not, old man. We kin give him 
a trial well 'nough right here in Glencaid," roared 
another voice from out the group, which was appar- 
ently growing restless over the delay. ‘‘ But we ain't 
inclined to do you no harm onless ye ram in too far. 
So come on down, Buck, throw up yer cards ; we 've 
got all the aces, an' ye can't bluff this whole darn 
camp. " 

Mason spat into the dump contemptuously, his 
hands thrust into his pockets. ‘‘You 're a fine-lookii^^ 
lot o' law-abidin' citizens, you are ! Blamed if yoir 
ain't. Why, I would n't give a snap of my fingers fer f 
the whole kit and caboodle of ye, you low-downf 
sneakin’ parcel o' thieves. Ye say it wus yer votes 
whut made me marshal o' this camp. Well, I reckon 
they did, an’ I reckon likewise I know 'bout whut my 
duty under the law is, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. If you 
fellers thought ye 'lected a chump, this is the time you 
git left. This yere man. Bob Hampton, is my prisoner, 
an* I'll take him to Cheyenne, if I have ter brain every 
tough in Glencaid to do it. Thet 's me, gents.” 

“ Oh, come off ; you can't run your notions agin 
the whole blame moral sentiment of this camp.” 

“ Moral sentiment ! I 'm backin' up the law, not 
moral sentiment, ye cross-eyed beer-slinger, an' if ye 
try edgin' up ther another step I 'll plug you with this 
‘ 45 -’” 

There was a minute of hesitancy while the men 
[240] 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


below conferred, the marshal looking contemptuously 
down upon them, his revolver gleaming ominously 
in the light. Evidently the group hated to go back 
without the prisoner. 

“ Oh, come on. Buck, show a little hoss sense,” the 
leader sang out. ‘‘WeVe got every feller in camp 
along with us, an* there ain’t no show fer the two o* ye 
to hold out against that sort of an outfit.*’ 

Mason smiled and patted the barrel of his Colt. 

‘‘ Oh, go to blazes ! When I want any advice, 
Jimmie, I *11 send fer ye.” 

Some one fired, the ball digging up the soft earth at 

t he marshal’s feet, and flinging it in a blinding cloud 
ito Hampton’s eyes. Mason’s answer was a sudden 
‘Afusilade, which sent the crowd flying helter-skelter into 
*the underbrush. One among them staggered and half 
fell, yet succeeded in dragging himself out of sight. 

“ Great Scott, if I don’t believe I winged James ! ” 
the shooter remarked cheerfully, reaching back into 
his pocket for more cartridges. Maybe them boys 
will be a bit more keerful if they once onderstand 
they’re up agin the real thing. Well, perhaps I 
better skin down, fer I reckon it ’s liable ter be rifles 
next.” 

It was rifles next, and the ‘‘ winging” of Big Jim, 
however it may have inspired caution, also developed 
fresh animosity in the hearts of his followers, and 
brought forth evidences of discipline in their approach. 
Peering across the sheltering dump pile, the besieged 
were able to perceive the dark figures cautiously 
advancing through the protecting brush; they spread 

[241] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


out widely until their two flanks were close in against 
the wall of rock, and then the deadly rifles began to 
spit spitefully, the balls casting up the soft dirt in 
clouds or flattening against the stones. The two men 
crouched lower, hugging their pile of slag, unable to 
perceive even a stray assailant within range of their 
ready revolvers. Hampton remained cool, alert, and 
motionless, striving in vain to discover some means of 
escape, but the little marshal kept grimly cheerful, 
creeping constantly from point to point in the endeavor 
to get a return shot at his tormentors. 

“This whole blame country is full of discharged 
sojers,” he growled, “ an’ they know their biz all right. 
I reckon them fellers is pretty sure to git one of us 
yit; anyhow, they Ve got us cooped. Say, Bob, thet 
lad crawling yonder ought to be in reach, an’ it’s 
our bounden duty not to let the boys git too gay.” 

Hampton tried the shot suggested, elevating con- 
siderable to overcome distance. There was a yell, 
and a swift skurrying backward which caused Mason 
to laugh, although neither knew whether this result 
arose from fright or wound. 

“ ’Bliged ter teach ’em manners onct in a while, or 
they ’ll imbibe a fool notion they kin come right 
’long up yere without no invite. ’T ain ’t fer long, 
no how, ’less all them guys are ijuts.” 

Hampton turned his head and looked soberly into 
the freckled face, impressed by the speaker’s grave 
tone. 

“Why?” 

“ Fire, my boy, fire. The wind’s dead right fer it ; 

[242] 


COHORTS OF JUDGE LYNCH 


thet brush will burn like so much tinder, an’ with this 
big wall o’ rock back of us, it will be hell here, all 
right. Some of ’em are bound to think of it pretty 
blame soon, an’ then. Bob, I reckon you an’ I will 
hev’ to take to the open on the jump.” 

Hampton’s eyes hardened. God, how he desired 
to live just then, to uncover that fleeing Murphy and 
wring from him the whole truth which had been 
eluding him all these years ! Surely it was not justice 
that all should be lost now. The smoke puffs rose 
from the encircling rifles, and the hunted men 
cowered still lower, the whistling of the bullets in 
their ears. 


CHAPTER XIII 

“She Loves Me; She Loves Me Not” 

U NKIND as the Fates had proved to Brant earlier 
in the day, they relented somewhat as the sun 
rose higher, and consented to lead him to far 
happier scenes. There is a rare fortune which seems 
to pilot lovers aright, even when they are most blind 
to the road, and the young soldier was now most 
truly a lover groping through the mists of doubt 
and despair. 

It was no claim of military duty which compelled 
him to relinquish Miss Spencer so promptly at the 
hotel door, but rather a desire to escape her ceaseless 
chatter and gain retirement where he could reflect in 
quiet over the revelations of Hampton. In this quest 
he rode slowly up the valley of the Bear Water, 
through the bright sunshine, the rare beauty of the 
scene scarcely leaving the slightest impress on his 
mind, so busy was it, and so preoccupied. He no 
longer had any doubt that Hampton had utilized 
his advantageous position, as well as his remarkable 
powers of pleasing, to ensnare the susceptible heart of 
this young, confiding girl. While the man had ad- 
vanced no direct claim, he had said enough to make 
perfectly clear the close intimacy of their relation and 
the existence of a definite understanding between 
them. With this recognized as a fact, was he justified 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


in endeavoring to win Naida Gillis for himself ? That 
the girl would find continued happiness with such a 
man as Hampton he did not for a moment believe 
possible ; that she had been deliberately deceived 
regarding his true character he felt no doubt. The 
fellow had impressed her by means of his picturesque 
personality, his cool, dominating manner, his veneer 
of refinement ; he had presumed on her natural grati- 
tude, her girlish susceptibility, her slight knowledge 
of the world, to worm his way into her confidence, 
perhaps even to inspire love. These probabilities, as 
Brant understood them, only served to render him 
more ardent in his quest, more eager to test his 
strength in the contest for a prize so well worth the 
winning. He acknowledged no right that such a man 
as Hampton could justly hold over so innocent and 
trustful a heart. The girl was morally so far above 
him as to make his very touch a profanation, and 
at the unbidden thought of it, the soldier vowed to 
oppose such an unholy consummation. Nor did he, 
even then, utterly despair of winning, for he recalled 
afresh the intimacy of their few past meetings, his face 
brightening in memory of this and that brief word or 
shy glance. There is a voiceless language of love 
which a lover alone can interpret, and Brant rode on 
slowly, deciphering its messages, and attaining new 
courage with every step of his horse. 

All the world loves a lover, and all the fairies guide 
him. As the officer’s eyes, already smiling in antici- 
pated victory, glanced up from the dusty road, he per- 
ceived just ahead the same steep bank down which he had 
[^ 45 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


plunged in his effort at capturing his fleeing tormentor. 
With the sight there came upon him a desire to loiter 
again in the little glen where they had first met, and 
dream once more of her who had given to the shaded 
nook both life and beauty. Amid the sunshine and 
the shadow he could picture afresh that happy, piquant 
face, the dark coils of hair, those tantalizing eyes. 
He swung himself from the saddle, tied a loose rein 
to a scrub oak, and clambered up the bank. 

With the noiseless step of a plainsman he pushed 
in through the labyrinths of bush, only to halt petri- 
fied upon the very edge of that inner barrier. No 
figment of imagination, but the glowing reality of flesh 
and blood, awaited him. She had neither seen nor 
heard his approach, and he stopped in perplexity. 
He had framed a dozen speeches for her ears, yet now 
he could do no more than stand and gaze, his heart in 
his eyes. And it was a vision to enchain, to hold lips 
speechless. She was seated with unstudied grace on 
the edge of the bank, her hands clasped about one 
knee, her sweet face sobered by thought, her eyes 
downcast, the long lashes plainly outlined against the 
clear cheeks. He marked the graceful sweep of her 
dark, close-fitting dress, the white fringe of dainty 
underskirt, the small foot, neatly booted, peeping from 
beneath, and the glimpse of round, white throat, ren- 
dered even fairer by the creamy lace encircling it. 
Against the darker background of green shrubs she 
resembled a picture entitled “ Dreaming,'' which he 
dimly recalled lingering before in some famous Eastern 
gallery, and his heart beat faster in wonderment at 
[246] 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


what the mystic dream might be. To draw back 
unobserved was impossible, even had he possessed 
strength of will sufficient to make the attempt, nor 
would words of easy greeting come to his relief. He 
could merely worship silently as before a sacred shrine. 
It was thus she glanced up and saw him with startled 
eyes, her hands unclasping, her cheeks rose-colored. 

“ Lieutenant Brant, you here ? ” she exclaimed, 
speaking as if his presence seemed unreal. What 
strange miracles an idle thought can work ! ” 

‘‘Thoughts, I have heard,*' he replied, coming 
toward her with head uncovered, “will sometimes 
awaken answers through vast distances of time and 
space. As my thought was with you I may be 
altogether to blame for thus arousing your own. From 
the expression of your face I supposed you dreaming.” 

She smiled, her eyes uplifted for a single instant to 
his own. “It was rather thought just merging into 
dream, and there are few things in life more sweet. I 
know not whether it is the common gift of all minds, 
but my day-dreams are almost more to me than my 
realities.” 

“First it was moods, and now dreams.” He 
seated himself comfortably at her feet. “You would 
cause me to believe you a most impractical person. 
Miss Naida.” 

She laughed frankly, that rippling peal of unaffected 
merriment which sounded so like music to his ears. 
“If that were only true, I am sure I should be most 
happy, for it has been my fortune so far to conjure up 
only pleasure through day-dreaming — the things I 

[247] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


like and long for become my very own then. But if 
you mean, as I suspect, that I do not enjoy the dirt 
and drudgery of life, then my plea will have to be 
guilty. I, of course, grant their necessity, yet appar- 
ently there are plenty who find them well worth while, 
and there should be other work for those who aspire. 
Back of what you term practical some one has said there 
is always a dream, a first conception. In that sense I 
choose to be a dreamer.** 

‘‘ And not so unwise a choice, if your dreams only 
tend toward results.** He sat looking into her ani- 
mated face, deeply puzzled by both words and actions. 
‘‘ I cannot help noticing that you avoid all reference to 
my meeting with Mr. Hampton. Is this another sign 
of your impractical mind ? ** 

“ I should say rather the opposite, for I had not 
even supposed it concerned me.** 

“Indeed! That presents a vastly different view 
from the one given us an hour since. The distinct 
impression was then conveyed to both our minds that 
you were greatly distressed regarding the matter. Is 
it possible you can have been acting again ? ** 

“ I ? Certainly not 1 ** and she made no attempt 
to hide her indignation. “ What can you mean ? ** 

He hesitated an instant in his reply, feeling that 
possibly he was treading upon thin ice. But her eyes 
commanded a direct answer, and he yielded to them. 

“We were informed that you experienced great 
anxiety for fear we might quarrel, — so great, indeed, 
that you had confided your troubles to another.** 

“To whom ? ** 

[248] 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


Miss Spencer. She came to us ostensibly in 
your name, and as a peacemaker.'' 

A moment she sat gazing directly at him, then she 
laughed softly. 

“ Why, how supremely ridiculous ; I can hardly 
believe it true, only your face tells me you certainly 
are not in play. Lieutenant Brant, I have never even 
dreamed of such a thing. You had informed me 
that your mission was one of peace, and he pledged 
me his word not to permit any quarrel. I had the 
utmost confidence in you both." 

‘‘ How, then, did she even know of our meeting? " 

I am entirely in the dark, as mystified as you," 
she acknowledged, frankly, for it has certainly 
never been a habit with me to betray the confidence 
of my friends, and I learned long since not to confide 
secrets to Miss Spencer." 

Apparently neither cared to discuss the problem 
longer, yet he remained silent considering whether to 
venture the asking of those questions which might 
decide his fate. He was uncertain of the ground he 
occupied, while Miss Naida, with all her frankness, 
was not one to approach thoughtlessly, nor was the 
sword of her tongue without sharp point. 

You speak of your confidence in us both," he 
said, slowly. ‘‘To me the complete trust you repose 
in Mr. Hampton is scarcely comprehensible. Do 
you truly believe in his reform ? " 

“ Certainly. Don't you ? " 

The direct return question served to nettle and 
confuse him. “ It is, perhaps, not my place to say, 

[249] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


as my future happiness does not directly depend on 
the permanence of his reformation. But if his word 
can be depended upon, your happiness to a very large 
extent does.” 

She bowed. ‘‘ I have no doubt you can safely 
repose confidence in whatever he may have told you 
regarding me.” 

“You indorse, then, the claims he advances ? ” 

“You are very insistent; yet 1 know of no good 
reason why I should not answer. Without at all 
knowing the nature of those claims to which you 
refer, I have no hesitancy in saying that I possess 
such complete confidence in Bob Hampton as to reply 
unreservedly yes. But really. Lieutenant Brant, I 
should prefer talking upon some other topic. It is 
evident that you two gentlemen are not friendly, 
yet there is no reason why any misunderstanding 
between you should interfere with our friendship, is 
there ? ” 

She asked this question with such perfect innocence 
that Brant believed she failed to comprehend Hamp- 
ton’s claims. 

“ I have been informed that it must,” he ex- 
plained. “ I have been told that I was no longer to 
force my attentions upon Miss Gillis.” 

“ By Bob Hampton ? ” 

“Yes. Those were, I believe, his exact words. 
Can you wonder that I hardly know how I stand in 
your sight ? ” 

“ 1 do not at all understand,” she faltered. 
“ Truly, Lieutenant Brant, I do not. I feel that 
[250] 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


Mr. Hampton would not say that without a good 
and sufficient reason. He is not a man to be swayed 
by prejudice; yet, whatever the reason may be, I 
know nothing about it.” 

But you do not answer my last query.” 

“ Perhaps I did not hear it.” 

“ It was. How do I stand in your sight? That 
is of far more importance to me now than any un- 
authorized command from Mr. Hampton.” 

She glanced up into his serious face shyly, with a 
little dimple of returning laughter. Indeed ; but 
perhaps he might not care to have me say. However, 
as I once informed you that you were very far from 
being my ideal, possibly it may now be my duty to 
qualify that harsh statement somewhat.” 

By confessing that I am your ideal ? ” 

‘‘Oh, indeed, no! We never realize our ideals, 
you know, or else they would entirely cease to be ideals. 
My confession is limited to a mere admission that I 
now consider you a very pleasant young man.” 

“You offer me a stone when I cry unto you for 
bread,” he exclaimed. “The world is filled with 
pleasant young men. They are a drug on the market. 
I beg some special distinction, some different classifi- 
cation in your eyes.” 

“You are becoming quite hard to please,” her face 
turned partially away, her look meditative, “ and — 
and dictatorial; but I will try. You are intelligent, a 
splendid dancer, fairly good-looking, rather bright at 
times, and, no doubt, would prove venturesome if not 
held strictly to your proper place. Take it all in all, 

[25’] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


you are even interesting, and — I admit — I am in- 
clined to like you/' 

The tantalizing tone and manner nerved him ; he 
grasped the white hand resting invitingly on the grass, 
and held it firmly within his own. ‘‘You only make 
sport as you did once before. I must have the 
whole truth." 

“ Oh, no; to make sport at such a time would be 
sheerest mockery, and I would never dare to be so 
free. Why, remember we are scarcely more than 
strangers. How rude you are ! only our third time 
of meeting, and you will not release my hand." 

“Not unless I must, Naida," and the deep ringing 
soberness of his voice startled the girl into suddenly 
uplifting her eyes to his face. What she read there 
instantly changed her mood from playfulness to 
earnest gravity. 

“ Oh, please do not — do not say what you are 
tempted to," her voice almost pleading. “ I cannot 
listen; truly I cannot; I must not. It would make 
us both very unhappy, and you would be sure to 
regret such hasty words." 

“ Regret ! " and he yet clung to the hand which she 
scarcely endeavored to release, bending forward, hoping 
to read in her hidden eyes the secret her lips guarded. 
“Am I, then, not old enough to know my own mind ? " 

“ Yes — yes ; I hope so, yes ; but it is not for me ; 
it can never be for me — I am no more than a child, 
a homeless waif, a nobody. You forget that I do 
not even know who I am, or the name I ought right- 
fully to bear. I will not have it so." 

[252] 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


‘‘ Naida, sweetheart ! and he burst impetuously 
through all bonds of restraint, her flushed cheeks the 
inspiration to his daring. ‘‘ I will speak, for I care 
nothing for all this. It is you I love — love forever. 
Do you understand me, darling? I love you ! I love 
you ! ” 

For an instant, — one glad, weak, helpless, forget- 
ful instant, — she did not see him, did not even know 
herself ; the very world was lost. Then she awoke as 
if from a dream, his strong arms clasped about her, 
his lips upon hers. 

‘‘You must not,’’ she sobbed. “ I tell you no 1 I 
will not consent; I will not be false to myself. You 
have no right; I gave you no right.” 

He permitted her to draw away, and they stood 
facing each other, he eager, mystified, thrilling with 
passion almost beyond mastery, she trembling and 
unstrung, her cheeks crimson, her eyes filled with 
mute appeal. 

“ I read it in your face,” he insisted. “ It told of 
love.” 

“ Then my face must have lied,” she answered, 
her soft voice tremulous, “ or else you read the mes- 
sage wrongly. It is from my lips you must take the 
answer.” 

“And they kissed me.” 

“If so, I knew it not. It was by no volition of 
mine. Lieutenant Brant, I have trusted you so com- 
pletely; that was not right.” 

“My heart exonerates me.” 

“ I cannot accept that guidance.” 

[^53] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘ Then you do not love me/* 

She paused, afraid of the impulse that swept her 
on. “ Perhaps,” the low voice scarcely audible, I 
may love you too well.” 

“You mean there is something — some person, 
perhaps — standing between ? *’ 

She looked frankly at him. “ I do mean just that. 
I am not heartless, and I sincerely wish we had never 
met ; but this must be the end.” 

“ The end ? And with no explanation ? ” 

“ There is no other way.” He could perceive 
tears in her eyes, although she spoke bravely. “ Nor 
can I explain, for all is not clear even to me. But 
this I know, there is a barrier between us insurmount- 
able ; not even the power of love can overcome it ; 
and I appeal to you to ask me no more.** 

It was impossible for him to doubt her sober 
earnestness, or the depth of her feelings ; the full 
truth in her words was pictured upon her face, and in 
the pathetic appeal of her eyes. She extended both 
hands. 

“You will forgive me ? Truly, this barrier has not 
been raised by me.** 

He bowed low, until his lips pressed the white 
fingers, but before he could master himself to utter a 
word in reply, a distant voice called his name, and 
both glanced hastily around. 

“ That cry came from the valley,” he said. “ I 
left my horse tied there. I will go and learn what 
it means.** 

She followed him part of the way through the 

[254] 


LOVES ME; LOVES ME NOT 


labyrinth of underbrush, hardly knowing why she did 
so. He stood alone upon the summit of the high 
bluflF whence he could look across the stream. Miss 
Spencer stood below waving her parasol frantically, 
and even as he gazed at her, his ears caught the sound 
of heavy firing down the valley. 


[255] 


CHAPTER XIV 
Plucked from the Burning 

T hat MIss Spencer was deeply agitated was 
evident at a glance, while the nervous manner 
in which she glanced in the direction of those 
distant gun shots, led Brant to jump to the conclusion 
that they were in some way connected with her 
appearance. 

‘‘ Oh, Lieutenant Brant,’’ she cried, excitedly, 
‘‘they are going to kill him down there, and he never 
did it at all. I know he did n’t, and so does Mr. 
Wynkoop. Oh, please hurry ! Nobody knew where 
you were, until I saw your horse tied here, and Mr. 
Wynkoop has been hunting for you everywhere. He 
is nearly frantic, poor man, and I cannot learn where 
either Mr. Moffat or Mr. McNeil is, and I just know 
those dreadful creatures will kill him before we can 
get help.” 

“ Kill whom ? ” burst in Brant, springing down the 
bank fully awakened to the realization of some un- 
known emergency. “ My dear Miss Spencer, tell 
me your story quickly if you wish me to act. Who 
is in danger, and from what ? ” 

The girl burst into tears, but struggled bravely 
through with her message. 

“It’s those awful men, the roughs and rowdies 
down in Glencaid. They say he murdered Red 
[256] 


FROM THE BURNING 


Slavin, that big gambler who spoke to me this morn- 
ing, but he did n’t, for I saw the man who did, and so 
did Mr. Wynkoop. He jumped out of the saloon 
window, his hand all bloody, and ran away. But 
they Ve got him and the town marshal up behind the 
Shasta dump, and swear they ’re going to hang him 
if they can only take him alive. Oh, just hear those 
awful guns! ” 

“ Yes, but who is it ? ” 

‘‘Bob Hampton, and — and he never did it at all.” 

Before Brant 'could either move or speak, Naida 
swept past him, down the steep bank, and her voice 
rang out clear, insistent. “ Bob Hampton attacked 
by a mob ? Is that true, Phoebe ? They are fight- 
ing at the Shasta dump, you say ? Lieutenant Brant, 
you must act — you must act now, for my sake ! ” 

She sprang toward the horse, nerved by Brant’s 
apparent slowness to respond, and loosened the rein 
from the scrub oak. “ Then I will myself go to him, 
even if they kill me also, the cowards! ” 

But Brant had got his head now. Grasping her 
arm and the rein of the plunging horse, “You will 
go home,” he commanded, with the tone of military 
authority. “ Go home with Miss Spencer. All that 
can possibly be done to aid Hampton I shall do — 
will you go ? ” 

She looked helplessly into his face. “You — 
you don’t like him,” she faltered ; “ I know you don’t. 
But — but you will help him, won’t you, for my 
sake ? ” 

He crushed back an oath. “ Like him or not like 

[257] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


him, I will save him if it be in the power of man. 
Now will you go ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, and suddenly extended her 
arms. “ Kiss me first.” 

With the magical pressure of her lips upon his, he 
swung into the saddle and spurred down the road. It 
was a principle of his military training never to tem- 
porize with a mob — he would strike hard, but he 
must have sufficient force behind him. He reined up 
before the seemingly deserted camp, his horse flung 
back upon its haunches, white foam flecking its quiv- 
ering flanks. 

“Sergeant! ” The sharp snap of his voice brought 
that officer forward on the run. “ Where are the 

“ Playin’ ball, most of ’em, sir, just beyond the 
ridge.” 

“ Are the horses out in herd ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Sound the recall ; arm and mount every man ; 
bring them into Glencaid on the gallop. Do you 
know the old Shasta mine.^ ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Half-way up the hill back of the hotel. You ’ll 
find me somewhere in front of it. This is a matter of 
life or death, so jump lively now 1 ” 

He drove in his spurs, and was off like the wind. 
A number of men were in the street, all hurrying 
forward in the same direction, but he dashed past 
them. These were miners mostly, eager to have a 
hand in the man-hunt. Here and there a rider skurried 

[^ 58 ] 


FROM THE BURNING 


along and joined in the chase. Just beyond the 
hotel, half-way up the hill, rifles were speaking irregu- 
larly, the white puffs of smoke blown quickly away 
by the stiff breeze. Near the centre of this line of 
skirmishers a denser cloud was beginning to rise in 
spirals. Brant, perceiving the largest group of men 
gathered just before him, rode straight toward them. 
The crowd scattered slightly at his rapid approach, 
but promptly closed in again as he drew up his horse 
with taut rein. He looked down into rough, bearded 
faces. Clearly enough these men were in no fit spirit 
for peace-making. 

‘'You damn fool!*’ roared one, hoarsely, his gun 
poised as if in threat, “what do you mean by riding 
us down like that? Do you own this country ? ” 

Brant flung himself from the saddle and strode in 
front of the fellow. “ I mean business. You see this 
uniform ? Strike that, my man, and you strike the 
United States. Who is leading this outfit?” 

“I don’t know as it’s your affair,” the man re- 
turned, sullenly. “We ain’t takin’ no army orders at 
present, mister. We ’re free-born American citizens, 
an’ ye better let us alone.” 

“That is not what I asked you,” and Brant 
squared his shoulders, his hands clinched. “ My 
question was. Who is at the head of this outfit? and 
I want an answer.” 

The spokesman looked around upon the others 
near him with a grin of derision. “Oh, ye do, hey? 
Well, I reckon we are, if you must know. Since 
Big Jim Larson got it in the shoulder this outfit right 

[259] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


yere hes bin doin' most of the brain work. So, if ye've 
got anythin' ter say, mister officer man, I reckon 
ye better spit it out yere ter me, an' sorter relieve 
yer mind." 

“ Who are you? " 

The fellow expectorated vigorously into the leaves 
under foot, and drawing one hairy hand across his 
lips, flushed angrily to the unexpected inquiry. 

“Oh, tell him, Ben. What's the blame odds? 
He can't do ye no hurt." 

The man's look became dogged. “ I 'm Ben 
Colton, if it 'll do ye any good to know." 

“I thought I had seen you somewhere before," 
said Brant, contemptuously, and then swept his glance 
about the circle. “ A nice leader of vigilantes you are, 
a fine representative of law and order, a lovely speci- 
men of the free-born American citizen ! Men, do you 
happen to know what sort of a cur you are following 
in this affair ? " 

“ Oh, Ben 's all right." 

“What ye got against him, young feller?" 

“Just this," and Brant squarely fronted the man, 
his voice ringing like steel. “ I 've seen mobs before 
to-day, and I 've dealt with them. I 'm not afraid of 
you or your whole outfit, and I 've got fighting men to 
back me up. I never yet saw any mob which was n't 
led and incited by some cowardly, revengeful rascal. 
Honest men get mixed up in such affairs, but they are 
invariably inflamed by some low-down sneak with an 
axe to grind. I confess I don't know all about this 
Colton, but I know enough to say he is an army 
[260] 


FROM THE BURNING 


deserter, a liar, a dive-keeper, a gambler, and, to my 
certain knowledge, the direct cause of the death of 
three men, one a soldier of my troop. Now isn’t he 
a sweet specimen to lead in the avenging of a supposed 
crime r 

Whatever else Colton might have failed in, he was 
a man of action. Like a flash his gun flew to the level, 
but was instantly knocked aside by the grizzled old 
miner standing next him. 

‘‘ None o’ that, Ben,” he growled, warningly. “ It 
don’t never pay to shoot holes in Uncle Sam.” 

Brant smiled. He was not there just then to fight, 
but to secure delay until his own men could arrive, and 
to turn aside the fierce mob spirit if such a result was 
found possible. He knew thoroughly the class of 
men with whom he dealt, and he understood likewise 
the wholesome power of his uniform. 

“ I really would enjoy accommodating you, Colton,” 
he said, coolly, feeling much more at ease, “ but I never 
fight personal battles with such fellows as you. And 
now, you other men, it is about time you woke up to 
the facts of this matter. A couple of hundred of you 
chasing after two men, one an officer of the law doing 
his sworn duty, and the other innocent of any crime. 
I should imagine you would feel proud of your job.” 

“Innocent? Hell!” 

“ That is what I said. You fellows have gone 
oflF half-cocked — a mob generally does. Both Miss 
Spencer and Mr. Wynkoop state positively that they 
saw the real murderer of Red Slavin, and it was not 
Bob Hampton.” 

[261] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The men were impressed by his evident earnest- 
ness, his unquestioned courage. Colton laughed 
sneeringly, but Brant gave him no heed beyond a 
quick, warning glance. Several voices spoke almost at 
once. 

Is that right ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, say, I saw the fellow with his hand on the 
knife.’’ 

“ After we git the chap, we ’ll give them people a 
chance to tell what they know.” 

Brant’s keenly attentive ears heard the far-off chug 
of numerous horses’ feet. 

‘‘ I rather think you will,” he said, confidently, his 
voice ringing out with sudden authority. 

He stepped back, lifted a silver whistle to his lips, 
and sounded one sharp, clear note. There was a 
growing thunder of hoofs, a quick, manly cheer, a 
crashing through the underbrush, and a squad of 
eager troopers, half-dressed but with faces glowing .in 
anticipation of trouble, came galloping up the slope, 
swinging out into line as they advanced, their carbines 
gleaming in the sunlight. It was prettily, sharply 
performed, and their officer’s face brightened. 

“Very nicely done, Watson,” he said to the ex- 
pectant sergeant. “ Deploy your men to left and 
right, and clear out those shooters. Make a good 
job of it, but no firing unless you have to.” 

The troopers went at it as if they enjoyed the 
task, forcing their restive horses through the thickets, 
and roughly handling more than one who ventured to 
question their authority. Yet the work was over in 
[262] 


FROM THE BURNING 


less time than it takes to tell, the discomfited regula- 
tors driven pell-mell down the hill and back into the 
town, the eager cavalrymen halting only at the com- 
mand of the bugle. Brant, confident of his first 
sergeant in such emergency, merely paused long 
enough to watch the men deploy, and then pressed 
straight up the hill, alone and on foot. That danger 
to the besieged was yet imminent was very evident. 
The black spiral of smoke had become an enveloping 
cloud, spreading rapidly in both directions from its 
original starting-point, and already he could distinguish 
the red glare of angry flames leaping beneath, fanned 
by the wind into great sheets of fire, and sweeping 
forward with incredible swiftness. These might not 
succeed in reaching the imprisoned men, but the 
stifling vapor, the suffocating smoke held captive by 
that overhanging rock, would prove a most serious 
menace. 

He encountered a number of men running down 
as he toiled anxiously forward, but they avoided him, 
no doubt already aware of the trouble below and 
warned by his uniform. He arrived finally where the 
ground was charred black and covered with wood 
ashes, still hot under foot and smoking, but he pressed 
upward, sheltering his eyes with uplifted arm, and 
seeking passage where the scarcity of underbrush ren- 
dered the zone of fire less impassable. On both 
sides trees were already wrapped in flame, yet he dis- 
covered a lane along which he stumbled until a fringe 
of burning bushes extended completely across it. 
The heat was almost intolerable, the crackling of the 

[263] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


ignited wood was like the reports of pistols, the dense 
pall of smoke was suffocating. He could see scarcely 
three yards in advance, but to the rear the narrow 
lane of retreat remained open. Standing there, as 
though in the mouth of a furnace, the red flames 
scorching his face, Brant hollowed his hands for a call. 

“ Hampton ! ” The word rang out over the in- 
fernal crackling and roaring like the note of a trumpet. 

“Ay! What is it?” The returning voice was 
plainly not Hampton’s, yet it came from directly in 
front, and not far away. 

“ Who are you ? Is that you. Marshal ? ” 

“ Thet ’s the ticket,” answered the voice, gruffly, 
“ an* just as full o’ fight es ever.” 

Brant lifted his jacket to protect his face from the 
scorching heat. There was certainly no time to lose 
in any exchange of compliments. Already, the 
flames were closing in ; in five minutes more they 
would seal every avenue of escape. 

“ I *m Brant, Lieutenant Seventh Cavalry,” he 
cried, choking with the thickening smoke. “ My 
troop has scattered those fellows who were hunting 
you. I *11 protect you and your prisoner, but you *11 
have to get out of there at once. Can you locate me 
and make a dash for it? Wrap your coats around 
your heads, and leave your guns behind.” 

An instant he waited for the answer, fairly writhing 
in the intense heat, then Mason shouted, “ Hamp- 
ton *s been shot, and I *m winged a little ; I can’t 
carry him.” 

It was a desperately hard thing to do, but Brant 
[264] 



Together They Bore Him, now Unconscious, Slowly 

DOWN BELOW THE FiRST FiRE-LINE. 





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4 ^ . 



FROM THE BURNING 


had given his promise, and in that moment of 
supreme trial, he had no other thought than fulfilling 
it. He ripped off his jacket, wrapped it about his 
face, jammed a handkerchief into his mouth, and, 
with a prayer in his heart, leaped forward into the 
seemingly narrow fringe of fire in his front. Head 
down, he ran blindly, stumbling forward as he struck 
the ore-dump, and beating out with his hands the 
sparks that scorched his clothing. The smoke 
appeared to roll higher from the ground here, and the 
coughing soldier crept up beneath it, breathing the 
hot air, and feeling as though his entire body were 
afire. Mason, his countenance black and unrecog- 
nizable, his shirt soaked with blood, peered into his 
face. 

“Hell, ain’t it!” he sputtered, “but you’re a 
dandy, all right.” 

“Is Hampton dead?” 

“ I reckon not. Got hit bad, though, and clear 
out of his head.” 

Brant cast one glance into the white, unconscious 
face of his rival, and acted with the promptness of 
military training. 

“ Whip off your shirt. Mason, and tie it around 
your face,” he commanded. “ Lively now 1 ” 

He bound his silk neckerchief across Hampton’s 
mouth, and lifted the limp form partially from the 
ground. Help me to get him up. There, that will 
do. Now keep as close as you can so as to steady 
him if I trip. Straight ahead — run for it! ” 

They sprang directly into the lurid flames, 
[265] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


bending low, Brant's hands grasping the inert form 
lying across his shoulder. They dashed stumbling 
through the black, smouldering lane beyond. Half- 
way down this, the ground yet hot beneath their feet, 
the vapor stifling, but with clearer breaths of air 
blowing in their faces, Brant tripped and fell. Mason 
beat out the smouldering sparks in his clothing, and 
assisted him to stagger to his feet once more. Then 
together they bore him, now unconscious, slowly 
down below the first fire-line. 


[266] 


CHAPTER XV 
The Door Closes 

T otally exhausted, the two men dropped 
their heavy burden on the earth. Mason swore 
as the blood began dripping again from his 
wound, which had been torn open afresh in his efforts 
to bear Hampton to safety. Just below them a 
mounted trooper caught sight of them and came for- 
ward. He failed to recognize his officer in the be- 
grimed person before him, until called to attention 
by the voice of command. 

‘‘ Sims, if there is any water in your canteen hand 
it over. Good; here. Marshal, use this. Now, Sims, 
note what I say carefully, and don’t waste a minute. 
Tell the first sergeant to send a file of men up here 
with some sort of litter, on the run. Then you ride 
to the Herndon house — the yellow house where the 
roads fork, you remember, — and tell Miss Naida Gil- 
lis (don’t forget the name) that Mr. Hampton has 
been seriously wounded, and we are taking him to the 
hotel. Can you remember that ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

“ Then off with you, and don’t spare the horse.” 
He was gone instantly, and Brant began bathing 
the pallid, upturned face. 

“You’d better lie down. Marshal,” he com- 
manded. “You’re pretty weak from loss of blood, 
[267] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


and I can do all there is to be done until those fellows 
get here/’ 

In fifteen minutes they appeared, and five minutes 
later they were toiling slowly down to the valley, 
Brant walking beside his still unconscious rival. 
Squads of troopers were scattered along the base of the 
hill, and grouped in front of the hotel. Here and 
there down the street, but especially about the steps of 
the Occidental, were gathered the discomfited vigi- 
lantes, busily discussing the affair, and cursing the 
watchful, silent guard. As these caught sight of the 
little party approaching, there were shouts of derision, 
which swelled into triumph when they perceived 
Hampton’s apparently lifeless form, and Mason lean- 
ing in weakness on the arm of a trooper. The sight 
and sound angered Brant. 

‘‘Carry Hampton to his room and summon medi- 
cal attendance at once,” he ordered. “ I have a word 
to say to those fellows.” 

Seeing Mr. Wynkoop on the hotel porch, Brant 
said to him : “ Miss Spencer informed me that you 

saw a man leap from the back window of the Occi- 
dental. Is that true ?” 

The missionary nodded. 

“ Good; then come along with me. I intend break- 
ing the back of this lynching business right here and 
now.” 

He strode directly across the street to the steps of 
the Occidental, his clothing scarcely more than smould- 
ering rags. The crowd stared at him sullenly; then 
suddenly a reaction came, and the American spirit 
[268] 


THE DOOR CLOSES 


of fair play, the frontier appreciation of bulldog 
courage, burst forth into a confused murmur, that 
became half a cheer. Brant did not mince his 
words. 

“Now, look here, men! If you want any more 
trouble we ’re here to accommodate you. Fighting is 
our trade, and we don’t mind working at it. But I 
wish to tell you right now, and straight off the handle, 
that you are simply making a parcel of fools of your- 
selves. Slavin has been killed, and nine out of ten 
among you are secretly glad of it. He was a curse to 
this camp, but because some of his friends and cronies 
— thugs, gamblers, and dive-keepers — accuse Bob 
Hampton of having killed him, you start in blindly 
to lynch Hampton, never even waiting to find out 
whether the charge is the truth or a lie. You act like 
sheep, not American citizens. Now that we have 
pounded a little sense into some of you, perhaps you’ll 
listen to the facts, and if you must hang some one 
put your rope on the right man. Bob Hampton did 
not kill Red Slavin. The fellow who did kill him 
climbed out of the back window of the Occidental 
here, and got away, while you were chasing the wrong 
man. Mr. Wynkoop saw him, and so did your school- 
teacher, Miss Spencer.” 

Then Wynkoop stepped gamely to the front. “All 
that is true, men. I have been trying ever since to 
to tell you, but no one would listen. Miss Spencer 
and I both saw the man jump from the window; 
there was blood on his right arm and hand. He 
was a misshapen creature whom neither of us ever 
[269] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


saw before, and he disappeared on a run up that 
ravine. I have no doubt he was Slavin’s murderer.” 

No one spoke, the crowd apparently ashamed of 
their actions. But Brant did not wait for any out- 
ward expression. 

“ Now, you fellows, think that over,” he said. “ I 
intend to post a guard until I find out whether you are 
going to prove yourselves fools or men, but if we sail 
in again those of you who start the trouble can expect 
to get hurt, and pay the piper. That’s all.” 

In front of the hotel porch he met his first sergeant 
coming out. 

“ What does the doctor say about Hampton ? ” 

‘‘ A very bad wound, sir, but not necessarily fatal ; 
he has regained consciousness.” 

“ Has Miss Gillis arrived ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir ; there ’s a young woman cryin’ 
in the parlor.” 

The lieutenant leaped up the steps and entered 
the house. But it was Miss Spencer, not Naida, who 
sprang to her feet. 

“ Oh, Lieutenant Brant ; can this be truly you ! 
How perfectly awful you look ! Do you know if Mr. 
Hampton is really going to die ? I came here just to 
find out about him, and tell Naida. She is almost 
frantic, poor thing.” 

Though Brant doubted Miss Spencer’s honesty of 
statement, his reply was direct and unhesitating. “ I 
am informed that he has a good chance to live, and 
I have already despatched word to Miss Gillis regard- 
ing his condition. I expect her at any moment.” 

[270] 


THE DOOR CLOSES 


How very nice that was of you ! Oh, I trembled 
so when you first went to face those angry men ! I 
don’t see how you ever dared to do it. I did wish 
that either Mr. Moffat or Mr. McNeil could have 
been here to go with you. Mr. Moffat especially is 
so daring ; he is always risking his life for some one 
else — and no one seems able to tell me anything 
about either of them.” The lady paused, blushing 
violently, as she realized what she had been saying. 
‘‘ Really you must not suppose me unmaidenly. Lieu- 
tenant,” she explained, her eyes shyly lifting, but you 
know those gentlemen were my very earliest acquaint- 
ances here, and they have been so kind. I was so 
shocked when Naida kissed you. Lieutenant; but the 
poor girl was so grateful to you for going to the help 
of Bob Hampton that she completely forgot herself. 
It is simply wonderful how infatuated the poor child 
is with that man. He seems almost to exercise some 
power of magic over her, don’t you think ? ” 

Why frankly. Miss Spencer, I scarcely feel like 
discussing that topic just now. There are so many 
duties pressing me — ” and Brant took a hasty step 
toward the open door, his attentive ear catching the 
sound of a light footstep in the hallway. He met 
Naida just without, pale and tearless. Both her hands 
were extended to him unreservedly. 

‘‘ Tell me, will he live? ” 

“ The doctor thinks yes.” 

Thank God ! Oh, thank God!” She pressed 
one hand against her heart to control its throbbing. 
‘‘ You cannot know what this means to me.” Her eyes 
[271] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


seemed now for the first time to mark his own deplor- 
able condition. “ And you ? You have not been 
hurt, Lieutenant Brant ? ** 

He smiled back into her anxious eyes. “Noth- 
ing that soap and water and a few days* retirement 
will not wholly remedy. My wounds are entirely 
upon the surface. Shall I conduct you to him ? ’* 

She bowed, apparently forgetful that one of her 
hands yet remained imprisoned in his grasp. “ If I 
may go, yes. I told Mrs. Herndon I should remain 
here if I could be of the slightest assistance.** 

They passed up the staircase side by side, exchang- 
ing no further speech. Once she glanced furtively at 
his face, but its very calmness kept the words upon 
her lips unuttered. At the door they encountered 
Mrs. Guffy, her honest eyes red from weeping. 

“This is Miss Gillis, Mrs. Guffy,** explained 
Brant. “ She wishes to see Mr. Hampton if it is 
possible.** 

“ Sure an* she can thet. He*s been askin* after 
her, an* thet pretty face would kape any man in gud 
spirits, I *m thinkin*. Step roight in, miss.** 

She held the door ajar, but Naida paused, glancing 
back at her motionless companion, a glint of unshed 
tears showing for the first time in her eyes. “ Are you 
not coming also ? ** 

“No, Miss Naida. It ’is best for me to remain 
without, but my heart goes with you.** 

Then the door closed between them. 


[272] 


CHAPTER XVI 
The Rescue of Miss Spencer 

W HILE Hampton lingered between life and 
death, assiduously waited upon by both 
Naida and Mrs. GufFy, Brant nursed his 
burns, far more serious than he had at first supposed, 
within the sanctity of his tent, longing for an order 
to take him elsewhere, and dreading the possibility of 
again having to encounter this girl, who remained to 
him so perplexing an enigma. Glencaid meanwhile 
recovered from its mania of lynch-law, and even 
began exhibiting some faint evidences of shame over 
what was so plainly a mistake. And the populace 
were also beginning to exhibit no small degree of in- 
terest in the weighty matters which concerned the fast- 
culminating love affairs of Miss Spencer. 

Almost from her earliest arrival the extensive cattle 
and mining interests of the neighborhood became 
aggressively arrayed against each other ; and now, as 
the fierce personal rivalry between Messrs. Moffat 
and McNeil grew more intense, the breach percep- 
tibly widened. While the infatuation of the Reverend 
Mr. Wynkoop for this same fascinating young lady 
was plainly to be seen, his chances in the race were 
not seriously regarded by the more active partisans 
upon either side. As the stage driver explained to 
an inquisitive party of tourists, “ He ’s a mighty fine 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


little feller, gents, but he ain’t got the git up an’ git 
necessary ter take the boundin’ fancy of a high-strung 
heifer like her. It needs a plum good man ter’ rope 
an’ tie any female critter in this Territory, let me 
tell ye.” 

With this conception of the situation in mind, the 
citizens generally settled themselves down to enjoy 
the truly Homeric struggle, freely wagering their gold- 
dust upon the outcome. The regular patrons of the 
Miners’ Retreat were backing Mr. Moffat to a man, 
while those claiming headquarters at the Occidental 
were equally ardent in their support of the prospects 
of Mr. McNeil. It must be confessed that Miss 
Spencer flirted outrageously, and enjoyed life as she 
never had done in the effete East. 

In simple truth, it was not in Miss Spencer’s sym- 
pathetic disposition to be cruel to any man, and in 
this puzzling situation she exhibited all the impartiality 
possible. The Reverend Mr. Wynkoop always felt 
serenely confident of an uninterrupted welcome upon 
Sunday evenings after service, while the other nights 
of the week were evenly apportioned between the two 
more ardent aspirants. The delvers after mineral 
wealth amid the hills, and the herders on the surround- 
ing ranches, felt that this was a personal matter between 
them, and acted accordingly. Three-finger Boone, 
who was caught red-handed timing the exact hour of 
Mr. Moffat’s exit from his lady-love’s presence, was 
indignantly ducked in the watering-trough before the 
Miners’ Retreat, and given ten minutes in which to 
mount his cayuse and get safely across the camp 

[274] 


RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER 


boundaries. He required only five. Bad-eye Con- 
nelly, who was suspected of having cut Mr. McNeil’s 
lariat while that gentleman tarried at the Occidental for 
some slight refreshments while on his way home, was 
very promptly rendered a fit hospital subject by an 
inquisitive cowman who happened upon the scene. 

On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings the 
Miners’ Retreat was a scene of wild hilarity, for it was 
then that Mr. Moffat, gorgeously arrayed in all the 
bright hues of his imported Mexican outfit, his long 
silky mustaches properly curled, his melancholy eyes 
vast wells of mysterious sorrow, was known to be 
comfortably seated in the Herndon parlor, relating 
gruesome tales of wild mountain adventure which 
paled the cheeks of his fair and entranced listener. 
Then on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights, 
when Mr. McNeil rode gallantly in on his yellow 
bronco, bedecked in all the picturesque paraphernalia 
of the boundless plains, revolver swinging at thigh, his 
wide sombrero shadowing his dare-devil eyes, the front 
of the gay Occidental blazed with lights, and became 
crowded to the doors with enthusiastic herders drink- 
ing deep to the success of their representative. 

It is no more than simple justice to the fair 
Phoebe to state that she was, as her aunt expressed it, 
in a dreadful state of mind.” Between these two 
picturesque and typical knights of plain and mountain 
she vibrated, unable to make deliberate choice. That 
she was ardently loved by each she realized with recur- 
ring thrills of pleasure ; that she loved in return she 
felt no doubt — but alas! which? How perfectly 

[275] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


delightful it would be could she only fall into some 
desperate plight, from which the really daring knight 
might rescue her ! That would cut the Gordian knot. 
While laboring in this state of indecision she must 
have voiced her ambition in some effective manner to 
the parties concerned, for late one Wednesday night 
Moffat tramped heavily into the Miners’ Retreat and 
called Long Pete Lumley over into a deserted corner 
of the bar-room. 

‘‘Well, Jack,” the latter began expectantly, “ hev 
ye railly got the cinch on that cowboy at last, hey ? ” 

“ Dern it all, Pete, I ’m blamed if I know ; least- 
wise, I ain’t got no sure prove-up. I tell ye thet 
girl ’s just about the toughest piece o’ rock I ever had 
any special call to assay. I think first I got her good 
an’ proper, an’ then she drops out all of a sudden, 
an’ I lose the lead. It’s mighty aggravatin’, let me 
tell ye. Ye see it ’s this way. She ’s got some durn 
down East notion that she ’s got ter be rescued, an’ 
borne away in the arms of her hero (thet ’s ’bout the 
way she puts it), like they do in them pesky novels 
the Kid ’s allers readin’, and so I reckon I ’ve got ter 
rescue her ! ” 

“ Rescue her from whut. Jack ? Thar’ ain’t 
nuthin’ ’round yere just now as I know of, less it ’s 
rats.” 

The lover glanced about to make sure they were 
alone. “ Well, ye see, Pete, maybe I ’m partly to 
blame. I ’ve sorter been entertainin’ her nights with 
some stories regardin’ road-agents an’ things o’ thet 
sort, while, so fur as I kin larn, thet blame chump 
[276] 


RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER 


of a McNeil hes been fillin* her up scandalous with 
Injuns, until she ’s plum got ’em on the brain. Ye 
know a feller jist hes ter gas along ’bout somethin’ 
like thet, fer it ’s no fool job ter entertain a female 
thet ’s es frisky es a young colt. And now, I reckon 
as how it’s got ter be Injuns.” 

Whut ’s got ter be Injuns ? ” 

Why thet outfit whut runs off with her, of course. 
I reckon you fellers will stand in all right ter help pull 
me out o’ this hole ?” 

Long Pete nodded. 

Well, Pete, this is ’bout whut ’s got ter be done, 
es near es I kin figger it out. You pick out maybe 
half a dozen good fellers, who kin keep their mouths 
shet, an’ make Injuns out of ’em. ’ Tain’t likely she ’ll 
ever twig any of the boys fixed up proper in thet 
sorter outfit — anyhow, she’d be too durned skeered. 
Then you lay fer her, say ’bout next Wednesday, out 
in them Carter woods, when she ’s cornin’ home from 
school. I ’ll kinder naturally happen ’long by accident 
’bout the head o’ the gulch, an’ jump in an’ rescue 
her. Sabe ? ” 

Lumley gazed at his companion with eyes express- 
ive of admiration. “By thunder, if you haven’t got 
a cocoanut on ye. Jack ! Lord, but thet ought to 
get her a flyin’ ! Any shootin’ ? ” 

“ Sure ! ” Moffat’s face exhibited a faint smile at 
these words of praise. “It wouldn’t be no great 
shucks of a rescue without, an’ this hes got ter be the 
real thing. Only, I reckon, ye better shoot high, so 
thar’ won’t be no hurt done.” 

[277] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


When the two gentlemen parted, a few moments 
later, the conspiracy was fully hatched, all prelimina* 
ries perfected, and the gallant rescue of Miss Spencer 
assured. Indeed, there is some reason now to believe 
that this desirable result was rendered doubly certain, 
for as Moffat moved slowly past the Occidental on his 
way home, a person attired in chaps and sombrero, 
and greatly resembling McNeil, was in the back room, 
breathing some final instructions to a few bosom 
friends. 

‘‘Now don’t — eh — any o’ you fellers — eh — go 
an’ ferget the place. Jump in — eh — lively, just 
afore she — eh — gits ter thet thick bunch — eh — 
underbrush, whar’ the trail sorter — eh — drops down 
inter the ravine. An’ you chumps wanter — eh — git 
— yerselves up so she can’t pipe any of ye off — eh — 
in this yere — eh — road-agent act. I tell ye, after 
what thet — eh — Moffat’s bin a-pumpin’ inter her, 
she ’s just got ter be — eh — rescued, an’ in blame good 
style, er — eh — it ain’t no go.” 

“Oh, you rest easy ’bout all thet. Bill,” chimed in 
Sandy Winn, his black eyes dancing in anticipation of 
coming fun. “We ’ll git up the ornariest outfit whut 
ever hit the pike.” 

The long shadows of the late afternoon were al- 
ready falling across the gloomy Carter woods, while 
the red sun sank lower behind old Bull Mountain. 
The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, who for more than 
an hour past had been vainly dangling a fishing-line 
above the dancing waters of Clear Creek, now reclined 
dreamily on the soft turf of the high bank, his eyes 
[278] 


RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER 


fixed upon the distant sky-line. His thoughts were 
on the flossy hair and animated face of the fair Miss 
Spencer, who he momentarily expected would round 
the edge of the hill, and so deeply did he become sunk 
in blissful reflection as to be totally oblivious to every- 
thing but her approach. 

Just above his secret resting-place, where the great 
woods deepen, and the gloomy shadows lie darkly all 
through the long afternoons, a small party of hideously 
painted savages skulked silently in ambush. Sud- 
denly to their strained ears was borne the sound of 
horses* hoofs ; and then, all at once, a woman’s voice 
rang out in a single shrill, startled cry. 

Whut is up ? ” questioned the leading savage, 
hoarsely. Is he a-doin* this little job all by hisself ? ” 

“ Dunno,” answered the fellow next him, flipping 
his quirt uneasily; ‘‘but I reckon as how it’s her as 
squealed, an* we *d better be gitting in ter hev our 
share o’ the fun.” 

The “chief,” with an oath of disgust, dashed for- 
ward, and his band surged after. 'Just below them, 
and scarcely fifty feet away, a half-score of roughly 
clad, heavily bearded men were clustered in the centre 
of the trail, two of their number lifting the unconscious 
form of a fainting woman upon a horse. 

“ Cervera’s gang, by gosh ! ” panted the leading 
savage. “ How did they git yere? ” 

“You bet! She’s up agin the real thing,” ejacu- 
lated a voice beside him. “Let’s ride ’em off the 
earth ! Whoop 1 ” 

With wild yells to awaken fresh courage, the whole 

[279] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


band plunged headlong down the sharp decline, 
striking the surprised “ road-agents ** with a force and 
suddenness which sent half of them sprawling. 
Revolvers flashed, oaths and shouts rang out fiercely, 
men clinched each other, striking savage blows. 
Lumley grasped the leader of the other party by the 
hair, and endeavored to beat him over the head with 
his revolver butt. Even as he uplifted his hand to 
strike, the man’s beard fell off, and the two fierce 
combatants paused as though thunderstruck. 

“ Hold on yere, boy ! ” yelled Lumley. “ This 
yere is some blame joke. These fellers is Bill 
McNeil’s gang.” 

“ By thunder ! if it ain’t Pete Lumley,” ejaculated 
the other. Whut did ye hit me fer, ye long-legged 
minin’ jackass ? ” 

The explanation was never uttered. Out from the 
surrounding gloom of underbrush a hatless, dishevelled 
individual on foot suddenly dashed into the centre of 
that hesitating ring of horsemen. With skilful twist 
of his foot he sent a dismounted road-agent spinning 
over backward, and managed to wrench a revolver 
from his hand. There was a blaze of red flame, a 
cloud of smoke, six sharp reports, and a wild stampede 
of frantic horsemen. 

Then the Reverend Howard Wynkoop flung the 
empty gun disdainfully down into the dirt, stepped 
directly across the motionless outstretched body, and 
knelt humbly beside a slender, white-robed figure lying 
close against the fringe of bushes. Tenderly he lifted 
the fair head to his throbbing bosom, and gazed 
[280] 


RESCUE OF MISS SPENCER 


directly down into the white, unconscious face. Even 
as he looked her eyes unclosed, her body trembling 
within his arms. 

“ Have no fear,*' he implored, reading terror in 
the expression of her face. Miss Spencer — Phoebe 
— it is only I, Mr, Wynkoop.” 

‘‘You ! Have those awful creatures gone ? 

“Yes, yes; be calm, I beg you. There is no 
longer the slightest danger. I am here to protect you 
with my life if need be.” 

“Oh, Howard — Mr. Wynkoop — it is all so 
strange, so bewildering ; my nerves are so shattered ! 
But it has taught me a great, great lesson. How 
could I have ever been so blind? I thought Mr. 
Moffat and Mr. McNeil were such heroes, and yet 
now in this hour of desperate peril it was you who flew 
gallantly to my rescue ! It is you who are the true 
Western knight ! ” 

And Mr. Wynkoop gazed down into those grate- 
ful eyes, and modestly confessed it true. 


[281] 


CHAPTER XVII 
The Parting Hour 

T O Lieutenant Brant these proved days of 
bitterness. His sole comfort was the feeling 
that he had performed his duty ; his sustaining 
hope, that the increasing rumors of Indian atrocity 
might soon lead to his despatch upon active service. 
He had called twice upon Hampton, both times find- 
ing the wounded man propped up in bed, very affable, 
properly grateful for services rendered, yet avoiding 
all reference to the one disturbing element between 
them. 

Once he had accidentally met Naida, but their 
brief conversation left him more deeply mystified then 
ever, and later she seemed to avoid him altogether. 
The barrier between them no longer appeared as a 
figment of her misguided imagination, but rather as 
a real thing neither patience nor courage might hope 
to surmount. If he could have flattered himself that 
Naida was depressed also in spirit, the fact might have 
proved both comfort and inspiration, but to his 
view her attitude was one of almost total indifference. 
One day he deemed her but an idle coquette ; the 
next, a warm-hearted woman, doing her duty bravely. 
Yet through it all her power over him never slackened. 
Twice he walked with Miss Spencer as far as the 
Herndon house, hopeful that that vivacious young lady 
[282] 


THE PARTING HOUR 


might chance to let fall some unguarded hint of 
guidance. But Miss Spencer was then too deeply 
immersed in her own affairs of the heart to waste 
either time or thought upon others. 

The end to this ners^ous strain came in the form 
of an urgent despatch recalling N Troop to Fort 
Abraham Lincoln by forced marches. The com- 
mander felt no doubt as to the full meaning of this 
message, and the soldier in him made prompt and 
joyful response. Little Glencaid was almost out of 
the world so far as recent news was concerned. The 
military telegraph, however, formed a connecting link 
with the War Department, so that Brant knew some- 
thing of the terrible condition of the Northwest. He 
had thus learned of the consolidation of the hostile 
savages, incited by Sitting Bull, into the fastness of 
the Big Horn Range ; he was aware that General 
Cook was already advancing northward from the 
Nebraska line ; and he knew it was part of the plan of 
operation for Custer and the Seventh Cavalry to 
strike directly westward across the Dakota hills. 
Now he realized that he was to be a part of this chosen 
fighting force, and his heart responded to the sum- 
mons as to a bugle-call in battle. 

Instantly the little camp was astir, the men feeling 
the enthusiasm of their officers. With preparations 
well in hand, Brant’s thoughts veered once again 
toward Naida — he could not leave her, perhaps ride 
forth to death, without another effort to learn what 
was this impassable object between them. He rode 
down to the Herndon house with grave face and sober 

[283] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


thought. If he could only understand this girl ; if 
he could only once look into her heart, and know the 
meaning of her ever-changing actions, her puzzling 
words ! He felt convinced he had surprised the 
reflection of love within her eyes ; but soon the reflec- 
tion vanished. The end was ever the same — he only 
knew he loved her. 

He recalled long the plainly furnished room into 
which Mrs. Herndon ushered him to await the girl’s 
appearance — the formal look of the old-fashioned 
hair-cloth furniture, the prim striped paper on the 
walls, the green shades at the windows, the clean rag 
carpet on the floor. The very stiffness chilled him, 
left him ill at ease. To calm his spirit he walked to 
a window, and stood staring out into the warm sun- 
light. Then he heard the rustle of Naida’s skirt and 
turned to meet her. She was pale from her weeks of 
nursing, and agitated for fear of what this unexpected 
call might portend. Yet to his thought she appeared 
calm, her manner restrained. Nor could anything be 
kinder than her first greeting, the frankly extended 
hand, the words expressive of welcome. 

“ Mr. Wynkoop informed me a few minutes ago 
that you had at last received your orders for the 
north,” she said, her lips slightly trembling. ‘‘ I won- 
dered if you would leave without a word of farewell.” 

He bowed low. ‘‘ I do not understand how you 
could doubt, for I have shown my deep interest in you 
even from the first. If I have lately seemed to avoid 
you, it has only been because I believed you wished 
it so.” 

[284] 


THE PARTING HOUR 


A slight flush tinged the pallor of her cheeks, 
while the long lashes drooped over the eyes, conceal- 
ing their secrets. 

‘‘ Life is not always as easy to live aright as it 
appears upon the surface,’' she confessed. “ I am 
learning that I cannot always do just as I should like, 
but must content myself with the performance of duty. 
Shall we not be seated ? ” 

There was an embarrassing pause, as though neither 
knew how to get through the interview. 

‘‘No doubt you are rejoiced to be sent on active 
service again,” she said, at last. 

“ Yes, both as a soldier and as a man. Miss 
Naida. I am glad to get into the field again with my 
regiment, to do my duty under the flag, and I am 
equally rejoiced to have something occur which will 
tend to divert my thoughts. I had not intended to 
say anything of this kind, but now that I am with 
you I simply cannot restrain the words. This past 
month has been, I believe, the hardest I have ever 
been compelled to live through. You simply mystify 
me, so that I alternately hope and despair. Your 
methods are cruel.” 

“ Mine ? ” and she gazed at him with parted lips. 
“ Lieutenant Brant, what can you mean ? What is it 
I have done ?” 

“It may have been only play to you, and so 
easily forgotten,” he went on, bitterly. “ But that is a 
dangerous game, very certain to hurt some one. Miss 
Naida, your face, your eyes, even your lips almost 
continually tell me one thing ; your words another. 

[285] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


I know not which to trust. I never meet you except 
to go away baffled and bewildered.” 

“You wish to know the truth ? ” 

“Ay, and for all time! Are you false, or true? 
Coquette, or woman ? Do you simply play with 
hearts for idle amusement, or is there some true pur- 
pose ruling your actions ? ” 

She looked directly at him, her hands clasped, her 
breath almost sobbing between the parted lips. At 
first she could not speak. “ Oh, you hurt me so,” she 
faltered at last. “ I did not suppose you could ever 
think that. I — I did not mean it ; oh, truly I did not 
mean it ! You forget how young I am ; how very 
little I know of the world and its ways. Perhaps I 
have not even realized how deeply in earnest you 
were, have deceived myself into believing you were 
merely amusing yourself with me. Why, indeed, 
should I think otherwise ? How could I venture to 
believe you would ever really care in that way for such 
a waif as I ? You have seen other women in that 
great Eastern world of which I have only read — re- 
fined, cultured, princesses, belonging to your own social 
circle, — how should I suppose you could forget them, 
and give your heart to a little outcast, a girl without a 
name or a home ? Rather should it be I who might 
remain perplexed and bewildered.” 

“ I love you,” he said, with simple honesty. “ I 
seek you for my wife.” 

She started at these frankly spoken words, her 
hands partially concealing her face, her form trem- 
bling. “ Oh, I wish you had n’t said that ! It is not 
[286] 


THE PARTING HOUR 


because I doubt you any longer; not that I fail to ap- 
preciate all you offer me. But it is so hard to appear 
ungrateful, to give nothing in return for so vast a gift. ” 
‘^Then it is true that you do not love me 
The blood flamed suddenly up into her face, but 
there was no lowering of the eyes, no shrinking back. 
She was too honest to play the coward before him. 

I shall not attempt to deceive you,” she said, 
with a slow impressiveness instantly carrying convic- 
tion. This has already progressed so far that I now 
owe you complete frankness. Donald Brant, now and 
always, living or dead, married or single, wherever life 
may take us, I shall love you.” 

Their eyes were meeting, but she held up her hand 
to restrain him from the one step forward. 

No, no; I have confessed the truth; I have 
opened freely to you the great secret of my heart. 
With it you must be content to leave me. There is 
nothing more that I can give you, absolutely nothing. 
I can never be your wife ; I hope, for your sake and 
mine, that we never meet again.” 

She did not break down, or hesitate in the utterance 
of these words, although there was a piteous tremble 
on her lips, a pathetic appeal in her eyes. Brant stood 
like a statue, his face grown white. He did not in 
the least doubt her full meaning of renunciation. 

“You will, at least, tell me why?” It was all 
that would come to his dry lips. 

She sank back upon the sofa, as though the 
strength had suddenly deserted her body, her eyes 
shaded by an uplifted hand. 

[287] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


I cannot tell you. I have no words, no courage. 
You will learn some day from others, and be thankful 
that I loved you well enough to resist temptation. 
But the reason cannot come to you from my lips.'' 

He leaned forv^ard, half kneeling at her feet, and 
she permitted him to clasp her hand within both his 
own. “Tell me, at least, this — is it some one else? 
Is it Hampton ? " 

She smiled at him through a mist of tears, a smile 
the sad sweetness of which he would never forget. 
“ In the sense you mean, no. No living man stands 
between us, not even Bob Hampton." 

“ Does he know why this cannot be ? " 

“ He does know, but I doubt if he will ever reveal 
his knowledge; certainly not to you. He has not 
told me all, even in the hour when he thought himself 
dying. I am convinced of that. It is not because he 
dislikes you. Lieutenant Brant, but because he knew 
his partial revealment of the truth was a duty he owed 
us both." 

There was a long, painful pause between them, 
during which neither ventured to look directly at the 
other. 

“You leave me so completely in the dark," he 
said, finally; “is there no possibility that this myste- 
rious obstacle can ever be removed ? " 

“None. It is beyond earthly power — there lies 
between us the shadow of a dead man." 

He stared at her as if doubting her sanity. 

“ A dead man ! Not Gillis ? " 

“No, it is not Gillis. I have told you this much 

[288] 


THE PARTING HOUR 


so that you might comprehend how impossible it is 
for us to change our fate. It is irrevocably fixed. 
Please do not question me any more ; cannot you see 
how I am suffering? I beseech your pity; I beg 
you not to prolong this useless interview. I cannot 
bear it ! ” 

Brant rose to his feet, and stood looking down 
upon her bowed head, her slender figure shaken by 
sobs. Whatever it might prove to be, this mysterious 
shadow of a dead man, there could be no doubting 
what it now meant to her. His eyes were filled with 
a love unutterable. 

‘‘ Naida, as you have asked it, I will go ; but I go 
better, stronger, because I have heard your lips say 
you love me. I am going now, my sweetheart, but if 
I live, I shall come again. I know nothing of what 
you mean about a dead man being between us, but I 
shall know when I come back, for, dead or alive, no 
man shall remain between me and the girl I love.’' 

‘‘This — this is different,” she sobbed, “ different ; 
it is beyond your power.” 

“ I shall never believe so until I have faced it for 
myself, nor will I even say good-bye, for, under God, 
I am coming back to you.” 

He turned slowly, and walked away. As his hand 
touched the latch of the door he paused and looked 
longingly back. 

“ Naida. ” 

She glanced up at him. 

“You kissed me once; will you again?” 

She rose silently and crossed over to him, her 
[289] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


hands held out, her eyes uplifted to his own. Neither 
spoke as he drew her gently to him, and their lips 
met. 

Say it once more, sweetheart ? ” 

Donald, I love you.” 

A moment they stood thus face to face, reading 
the great lesson of eternity within the depths of 
each other's eyes. Then slowly, gently, she released 
herself from the clasp of his strong arms. 

“You believe in me now? You do not go away 
blaming me?” she questioned, with quivering lips. 

“ There is no blame, for you are doing what you 
think right. But I am coming back, Naida, little 
woman ; coming back to love and you.” 

An hour later N Troop trotted across the rude 
bridge, and circled the bluff, on its way toward the 
wide plains. Brant, riding ahead of his men, caught 
a glimpse of something white fluttering from an 
open window of the yellow house fronting the road. 
Instantly he whipped off his campaign hat, and bow- 
ing to the saddle pommel, rode bareheaded out of 
sight. And from behind the curtain Naida watched the 
last horseman round the bluff angle, riding cheerfully 
away to hardship, danger, and death, her eyes dry 
and despairing, her heart scarcely beating. Then she 
crept across the narrow room, and buried her face in 
the coverlet of the bed. 


[290] 


PART III 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


















PAR T III 

ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 
CHAPTER I 
Mr. Hampton Resolves 

M r. bob HAMPTON stood in the bright 
sunshine on the steps of the hotel, his ap- 
preciative gaze wandering up the long, dusty, 
unoccupied street, and finally rising to the sweet face 
of the young girl who occupied the step above. As 
their eyes met both smiled as if they understood each 
other. Except for being somewhat pale, the result of 
long, inactive weeks passed indoors, Mr. Hampton’s 
appearance was that of perfect health, while the ex- 
pression of his face evidenced the joy of living. 

‘‘There is nothing quite equal to feeling well, little 
girl,” he said, genially, patting her hand where it 
rested on the railing, “ and I really believe I am in as 
fine fettle now as I ever have been. Do you know, 
I believe I ’m perfectly fit to undertake that little 
detective operation casually mentioned to you a few 
days ago. It *s got to be done, and the sooner I get 
at it the easier I’ll feel. Fact is, I put in a large 
portion of the night thinking out my plans.” 

“ I wish you would give it up all together. Bob,” 
she said, anxiously. “ I shall be so dull and lonely 
here while you are gone.” 

[293] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘ I reckon you will, for a fact, as it 's my private 
impression that lovely Miss Spencer does n't exert 
herself over much to be entertaining unless there hap- 
pens to be a man in sight. Great guns ! how she did 
fling language the last time she blew in to see me ! 
But, Naida, it isn’t likely this little affair will require 
very long, and things are lots happier between us since 
my late shooting scrape. For one thing, you and I 
understand each other better; then Mrs. Herndon 
has been quite decently civil. When Fall comes I 
mean to take you East and put you in some good 
finishing school. Don’t care quite as much about it 
as you did, do you ? ” 

‘‘Yes, I think I do. Bob.” She strove bravely 
to express enthusiasm. “The trouble is, I am so 
worried over your going off alone hunting after that 
man.” 

He laughed, his eyes searching her face for the 
truth. “Well, little girl, he won’t exactly be the 
first I ’ve had call to go after. Besides, this is a par- 
ticular case, and appeals to me in a sort of personal 
way. If you only knew it, you’re about as deeply 
concerned in the result as I am, and as for me, I can 
never rest easy again until the matter is over with.” 

“ It ’s that awful Murphy, is n’t it ? ” 

“He’s the one I’m starting after first, and one 
sight at his right hand will decide whether he is to 
be the last as well.” 

“ I never supposed you would seek revenge, like a 
savage,” she remarked, quietly. “You nevei used to 
be that way.” 


[294] 


MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES 


“ Good Lord, Naida, do you think I ’m low down 
enough to go out hunting that poor cuss merely to 
get even with him for trying to stick me with a knife ? 
Why, there are twenty others who have done as much, 
and we have been the best of friends afterwards. Oh, 
no, lassie, it means more than that, and harks back 
many a long year. I told you I saw a mark on his 
hand I would never forget — but I saw that mark first 
fifteen years ago. I ’m not taking my life in my 
hand to revenge the killing of Slavin, or in any mem- 
ory of that little misunderstanding between the citi- 
zens of Glencaid and myself. I should say not. I 
have been slashed at and shot at somewhat pro- 
miscuously during the last five years, but I never 
permitted such little affairs to interfere with either 
business, pleasure, or friendship. If this fellow 
Murphy, or whoever the man I am after may prove 
to be, had contented himself with endeavoring play- 
fully to carve me, the account would be considered 
closed. But this is a duty I owe a friend, a dead 
friend, to run to earth this murderer. Do you 
understand now.^ The fellow who did that shoot- 
ing up at Bethune fifteen years ago had the same 
sort of a mark on*his right hand as this one who 
killed Slavin. That’s why I’m after him, and when 
I catch up he’ll either squeal or die. He won’t be 
very likely to look on the matter as a joke.” 

‘‘But how do you know?” 

“ I never told you the whole story, and I don’t 
mean to now until I come back, and can make every- 
thing perfectly clear. It would n’t do you any good 

[295] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


the way things stand nbw, and would only make you 
uneasy . But if you do any praying over it, my girl, 
pray good and hard that I may discover some means 
for making that fellow squeal/’ 

She made no response. He had told her so little, 
that it left her blindly groping, yet fearful to ask for 
more. She stood gazing thoughtfully past him. 

Have you heard anything lately. Bob, about 
the Seventh?” she asked, finally. “ Since — since 
N Troop left here?” 

He answered with well-simulated carelessness. 
“No; but it is most likely they are well into the game 
by this time. It ’s bound to prove a hard campaign, 
to judge from all visible indications, and the trouble 
has been hatching long enough to get all the hostiles 
into a bunch. I know most of them, and they are 
a bad lot of savages. Crook’s column, I have just 
heard, was overwhelmingly attacked on the Rosebud, 
and forced to fall back. That leaves the Seventh to 
take the brunt of it, and there is going to be hell 
up north presently, or I ’ve forgotten all I ever knew 
about Indians. Sitting Bull is the arch-devil for a 
plot, and he has found able assistants to lead the fight- 
ing. I only wish it were my luck to be in it. But 
come, little girl, as I said, I ’m quite likely to be off 
before night, provided I am fortunate enough to strike 
a fresh trail. Under such conditions you won’t mind 
my kissing you out here, will you ? ” 

She held up her lips and he touched them softly 
with his own. Her eyes were tear-dimmed. “Oh, Bob, 
I hate so to let you go,” she sobbed, clinging to him. 

[296] 


MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES 


“No one could have been more to me than you have 
been, and you are all I have left in the world. Every- 
thing I care for goes away from me. Life is so hard, 
so hard ! ” 

“Yes, little girl, I know,” and the man stroked 
her hair tenderly, his own voice faltering. “It’s all 
hard ; I learned that sad lesson long ago, but I Ve 
tried to make it a little bit easier for you since we first 
came together. Still, I don’t see how I can possibly 
help this. I ’ve been hunting after that fellow a long 
while now, a matter of fifteen years over a mighty dim 
trail, and it would be a mortal sin to permit him to 
get away scot-free. Besides, if this affair only manages 
to turn out right, I can promise to make you the 
happiest girl in America. But, Naida, dear, don’t 
cling to me so ; it is not at all like you to break down 
in this fashion,” and he gently unclasped her hands, 
holding her away from him, while he continued to 
gaze hungrily into her troubled face. “It only weak- 
ens me at a time when I require all my strength of 
will.” 

“ Sometimes I feel just like a coward. Bob. It ’s the 
woman of it ; yet truly I wish to do whatever you be- 
lieve to be best. But, Bob, I need you so much, and 
you will come back, won’t you ? I shall be so lonely 
here, for — for you are truly all I have in the world.” 

With one quick, impulsive motion he pressed her 
to him, passionately kissing the tears from her lowered 
lashes, unable longer to conceal the tremor that shook 
his own voice. “ Never, never doubt it, lassie. It will 
not take me long, and if I live I come straight back.” 

[297] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


He watched her slender, white-robed figure as it 
passed slowly down the deserted street. Once only 
she paused, and waved back to him, and he returned 
instant response, although scarcely realizing the act. 

‘‘ Poor little lonely girl ! perhaps I ought to have 
told her the whole infernal story, but I simply have n’t 
got the nerve, the way it reads now. If I can only get 
it straightened out, it ’ll be different.” 

Mechanically he thrust an unlighted cigar between 
his teeth, and descended the steps, to all outward ap- 
pearance the same reckless, audacious Hampton as of 
old. Mrs. Guffy smiled happily from an open win- 
dow as she observed the square set of his shoulders, 
the easy, devil-may-care smile upon his lips. 

The military telegraph occupied one-half of the 
small tent next the Miners’ Retreat, and the youthful 
operator instantly recognized his debonair visitor. 

‘‘Well, Billy,” was Hampton’s friendly greeting, 
“ are they keeping you fairly busy with ‘ wars and 
rumors of wars ’ these days ? ” 

“ Nuthin’ doin’, just now,” was the cheerful reply. 
“ Everything goin’ ter Cheyenne. The Injuns are 
gittin’ themselves bottled up in the Big Horn country.” 

“ Oh, that’s it? Then maybe you might manage 
to rush a message through for me to Fort A. Lincoln, 
without discommoding Uncle Sam?” and Hampton 
placed a coin upon the rough table. 

“ Sure; write it out.” 

“ Here it is ; now get it off early, my lad, and bring 
the answer to me over at the hotel. There ’ll be 
another yellow boy waiting when you come.” 

[298] 


MR. HAMPTON RESOLVES 


The reply arrived some two hours later. 

“Fort A. Lincoln, June 17, 1876. 
“Hampton, Glencaid: 

“Seventh gone west; probably Yellowstone. Brant 
with them. Murphy, government scout, at Cheyenne 
waiting orders. “Bitton, Commanding.” 

He crushed the paper in his hand, thinking — 
thinking of the past, the present, the future. He had 
borne much in these last years, much misrepresenta- 
tion, much loneliness of soul. He had borne these 
patiently, smiling into the mocking eyes of Fate. 
Through it all — the loss of friends, of profession, of 
ambition, of love, of home — he had never wholly 
lost hold of a sustaining hope, and now it would 
seem that this long-abiding faith was at last to be 
rewarded. Yet he realized, as he fronted the facts, 
how very little he really had to build upon, — the frag- 
mentary declaration of Slavin, wrung from him in a 
moment of terror; an idle boast made to Brant by 
the surprised scout; a second's glimpse at a scarred 
hand, — little enough, indeed, yet by far the most 
clearly marked trail he had ever struck in all his vain 
endeavor to pierce the mystery which had so utterly 
ruined his life. To run this Murphy to cover re- 
mained his final hope for retrieving those dead, dark 
years. Ay, and there was Naida ! Her future, scarcely 
less than his own, hung trembling in the balance. 
The sudden flashing of that name into his brain was 
like an electric shock. He cursed his inactivity. 
Great God ! had he become a child again, to tremble 

[299] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


before imagined evil, a mere hobgoblin of the mind? 
He had already wasted time enough; now he must 
wring from the lips of that misshapen savage the last 
vestige of his secret. 

The animal within him sprang to fierce life. God! 
he would prove as wary, as cunning, as relentless as 
ever was Indian on the trail. Murphy would never 
suspect at this late day that he was being tracked. 
That was well. Tireless, fearless, half savage as the 
scout undoubtedly was, one fully his equal was now 
at his heels, actuated by grim, relentless purpose. 
Hampton moved rapidly in preparation. He dressed 
for the road, for hard, exacting service, buckling his 
loaded cartridge-belt outside his rough coat, and testing 
his revolvers with unusual care. He spoke a few 
parting words of instruction to Mrs. Guffy, and went 
quietly out. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle, 
galloping down the dusty stage road toward Cheyenne. 


[300] 


CHAPTER II 

The Trail of Silent Murphy 

T he young infantryman who had been detailed 
for the important service of telegraph operator, 
sat in the Cheyenne office, his feet on the rude 
table his face buried behind a newspaper. He had 
passed through two eventful weeks of unremitting 
service, being on duty both night and day, and now, 
the final despatches forwarded, he felt entitled to enjoy 
a period of well-earned repose. 

Could you inform me where I might find 
Silent Murphy, a government scout? '' 

The voice had the unmistakable ring of mili- 
tary authority, and the soldier operator instinctively 
dropped his feet to the floor. 

‘‘Well, my lad, you are not dumb, are you?'' 

The telegrapher's momentary hesitation vanished; 
his ambition to become a martyr to the strict laws of 
service secrecy was not sufficiently strong to cause him 
to take the doubtful chances of a lie. “ He was here, 
but has gone." 

“Where?" 

“ The devil knows. He rode north, carrying 
despatches for Custer." 

“ When ? " 

“ Oh, three or four hours ago." 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Hampton swore softly but fervently, behind his 
clinched teeth. 

‘‘ Where is Custer ? ” 

“ Don’t know exactly. Supposed to be with 
Terry and Gibbons, somewhere near the mouth of 
the Powder, although he may have left there by this 
time, moving down the Yellowstone. That was the 
plan mapped out. Murphy’s orders were to intercept 
his column somewhere between the Rosebud and the 
Big Horn, and I figure there is about one chance out 
of a hundred that the Indians let him get that far 
alive. No other scout along this border would take 
such a detail. I know, for there were two here who 
failed to make good when the job was thrown at 
them — just naturally faded away, ” and the soldier’s 
eyes sparkled. ‘‘ But that old devil of a Murphy just 
enjoys such a trip. He started off as happy as ever 
I see him.” 

“ How far will he have to ride ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, ’bout three hundred miles as the crow flies, 
a little west of north, and the ’better part of the dis- 
tance, they tell me, it ’s almighty rough country for 
night work. But then Murphy, he knows the way 
all right.” 

Hampton turned toward the door, feeling fairly 
sick from disappointment. The operator stood 
regarding him curiously, a question on his lips. 

“Sorry you didn’t come along a little earlier,” 
he said, genially. “ Do you know Murphy ? ” 

“ I ’m not quite certain. Did you happen to notice 
a peculiar black scar on the back of his right hand ? ” 
[302] 


TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY 


‘‘ Sure ; looks like the half of a pear. He said it 
was powder under the skin.” 

A new look of reviving determination swept into 
Hampton’s gloomy eyes — beyond doubt this must be 
his man. 

How many horses did he have ? ” 

‘‘ Two.” 

‘‘ Did you overhear him say anything definite 
about his plans for the trip ? ” 

What, him P He never talks, that fellow. He 
can’t do nothing but sputter if he tries. But I wrote 
out his orders, and they give him to the twenty-fifth 
to make the Big Horn. That’s maybe something 
like fifty miles a day, and he ’s most likely to keep 
his horses fresh just as long as possible, so as to be 
good for the last spurt through the hostile country. 
That ’s how I figure it, and I know something about 
scouting. You was n’t planning to strike out after 
him, was you ? ” 

I might risk it if I only thought I could over- 
take him within two days ; my business is of some 
importance.” 

Well, stranger, I should reckon you might do 
that with a dog-gone good outfit. Murphy ’s sure to 
take things pretty easy to-day, and he ’s almost certain 
to follow the old mining trail as far as the ford over 
the Belle Fourche, and that’s plain enough to travel. 
Beyond that point the devil only knows where he will 
go, for then is when his hard ridin’ begins.” 

The moment the operator mentioned that odd 
Murphy’s hand^ every vestige of hesitation 

[303] 


scar on 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


vanished. Beyond any possibility of doubt he was 
on the right scent this time. Murphy was riding 
north upon a mission as desperate as ever man was 
called upon to perform. The chance of his coming 
forth alive from that Indian-haunted land was, as the 
operator truthfully said, barely one out of a hundred. 
Hampton thought of this. He durst not venture all 
he was so earnestly striving after — love, reputation, 
honor — to the chance of a stray Sioux bullet. No! 
and he remembered Naida again, her dark, pleading 
eyes searching his face. To the end, to the death if 
need were, he would follow 1 

The memory of his old plains craft would not 
permit any neglect of the few necessaries for the trip. 
He bought without haggling over prices, but insisted 
on the best. So it was four in the afternoon when he 
finally struck into the trail leading northward. This 
proved at first a broad, plainly marked path, across 
the alkali plain. He rode a mettlesome, half-broken 
bronco, a wicked-eyed brute, which required to be 
conquered twice within the first hour of travel ; a 
second and more quiet animal trailed behind at the 
end of a lariat, bearing the necessary equipment. 
Hampton forced the two into a rapid lope, striving 
to make the most possible out of the narrow margin 
of daylight remaining. 

He had, by persistent questioning, acquired con- 
siderable information, during that busy hour spent in 
Cheyenne, regarding the untracked regions lying be- 
fore him, as well as the character and disposition of 
the man he pursued. Both by instinct and training he 

[304] 


TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY 


was able to comprehend those brief hints that must 
prove of vast benefit in the pathless wilderness. But 
the time had not yet arrived for him to dwell on such 
matters. His thoughts were concentrated on Murphy. 
He knew that the fellow was a stubborn, silent, sullen 
savage, devoid of physical fear, yet cunning, wary, 
malignant, and treacherous. That was what they said 
of him back in Cheyenne. What, then, would ever 
induce such a man to open his mouth in confession of 
a long-hidden crime? To be sure, he might easily kill 
the fellow, but he would probably die, like a wild 
beast, without uttering a word. 

There was one chance, a faint hope, that behind 
his gruff, uncouth exterior this Murphy possessed a 
conscience not altogether dead. Over some natures, 
and not infrequently to those which seem outwardly 
the coarsest, superstition wields a power the normal 
mind can scarcely comprehend. Murphy might be 
spiritually as cringing a coward as he was physically a 
fearless desperado. Hampton had known such cases 
before; he had seen men laugh scornfully before the 
muzzle of a levelled gun, and yet tremble when 
pointed at by the finger of accusation. He had lived 
sufficiently long on the frontier to know that men may 
become inured to that special form of danger to which 
they have grown accustomed through repetition, and 
yet fail to front the unknown and mysterious. Per- 
haps here might be discovered Murphy’s weak point. 
Without doubt the man was guilty of crime ; that its 
memory continued to haunt him was rendered evident 
by his hiding in Glencaid, and by his desperate 

[305] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


attempt to kill Hampton. That knife-thrust must 
have been given with the hope of thus stopping 
further investigation ; it alone was sufficient proof that 
Murphy’s soul was haunted by fear. 

“ Conscience doth make cowards of us all.” 
These familiar words floated in Hampton’s mem- 
ory, seeming to attune themselves to the steady 
gallop of his horse. They appealed to him as a direct 
message of guidance. The night was already dark, 
but stars were gleaming brilliantly overhead, and the 
trail remained easily traceable. It became terribly 
lonely on that wilderness stretching away for unknown 
leagues in every direction, yet Hampton scarcely 
noted this, so watchful was he lest he miss the trail. 
To his judgment, Murphy would not be likely to ride 
during the night until after he had crossed the 
Fourche. There was no reason to suspect that there 
were any hostile Indians south of that stream, and 
probably therefore the old scout would endeavor to 
conserve his own strength and that of his horses, for 
the more perilous travel beyond. Hampton hastened 
on, his eyes peering anxiously ahead into the steadily 
increasing gloom. 

About midnight, the trail becoming obscure, the 
rider made camp, confident he must have already 
gained heavily on the man he pursued. He lariated 
his horses, and flinging himself down on some soft 
turf, almost immediately dropped asleep. He was up 
again before daylight, and, after a hasty meal, pressed 
on. The nature of the country had changed consid- 
erably, becoming more broken, the view circumscribed 
[306] 


TRAIL OF SILENT MURPHY 


by towering cliffs and deep ravines. Hampton swung 
forward his field-glasses, and, from the summit of 
every eminence, studied the topography of the country 
lying beyond. He must see before being seen, and 
he believed he could not now be many miles in the 
rear of Murphy. 

Late in the afternoon he reined up his horse and 
gazed forward into a broad valley, bounded with 
precipitous bluffs. The trail, now scarcely perceptible, 
led directly down, winding about like some huge 
snake, across the lower level, toward where a con- 
siderable stream of water shone silvery in the sun, 
half concealed behind a fringe of willows. Beyond 
doubt this was the Belle Fourche. And yonder, close 
in against those distant willows, some black dots were 
moving. Hampton glued his anxious eyes to the 
glass. The levelled tubes clearly revealed a man on 
horseback, leading another horse. The animals were 
walking. There could be little doubt that this was 
Silent Murphy. 

Hampton lariated his tired horses behind the 
bluff, and returned to the summit, lying flat upon the 
ground, with the field-glass at his eyes. The distant 
figures passed slowly forward into the midst of the 
willows, and for half an hour the patient watcher 
scanned the surface of the stream beyond, but there 
was no sign of attempted passage. The sun sank 
lower, and finally disappeared behind those desolate 
ridges to the westward. Hampton’s knowledge of 
plains craft rendered Murphy’s actions sufficiently clear. 
This was the Fourche; beyond those waters lay the 

[307] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


terrible peril of Indian raiders. Further advance must 
be made by swift, secret night riding, and never- 
ceasing vigilance. This was what Murphy had been 
saving himself and his horses for. Beyond conjecture, 
he was resting now within the shadows of those wil- 
lows, studying the opposite shore and making ready 
for the dash northward. Hampton believed he would 
linger thus for some time after dark, to see if Indian 
fires would afford any guidance. Confident of this, 
he passed back to his horses, rubbed them down with 
grass, and then ate his lonely supper, not venturing to 
light a fire, certain that Murphy’s eyes were scanning 
every inch of sky-line. 

Darkness came rapidly, while Hampton sat plan- 
ning again the details of his night’s work. The man’s 
spirits became depressed by the gloom and the silence. 
Evil fancies haunted his brain. His mind dwelt upon 
the past, upon that wrong which had wrecked his life, 
upon the young girl he had left praying for his safe 
return, upon that miserable creature skulking yonder 
in the black night. Hampton could not remember 
when he had ever performed such an act before, nor 
could he have explained why he did so then, yet he 
prayed — prayed for the far-off Naida, and for personal 
guidance in the stern work lying before him. And 
when he rose to his feet and groped his way to the 
horses, there remained no spirit of vengeance in his 
heart, no hatred, merely a cool resolve to succeed in 
his strange quest. So, the two animals trailing cau- 
tiously behind, he felt his slow way on foot down the 
steep bluff, into the denser blackness of the valley. 
[308] 


CHAPTER III 
The Haunting of a Crime 

M urphy rested on his back, in the midst of a 
thicket of willows, wide awake, yet not quite 
ready to ford the Fourche and plunge into 
the dense shadows shrouding the northern shore. 
Crouched behind a log, he had so far yielded unto 
temptation as to light his pipe. 

Murphy had been amid just such unpleasant 
environments many times before, and the experience 
had grown somewhat prosaic. He realized fully the 
imminent peril haunting the next two hundred miles, 
but such danger was not wholly unwelcome to his 
peculiar temperament; rather it was an incentive to 
him, and, without a doubt, he would manage to pull 
through somehow, as he had done a hundred times 
before. Even Indian-scouting degenerates into a 
commonplace at last. So Murphy puffed contentedly 
at his old pipe. Whatever may have been his thoughts, 
they did not burst through his taciturnity, and he re- 
clined there motionless, no sound breaking the silence, 
save the rippling waters of the Fourche, and the 
occasional stamping of his horses as they cropped the 
succulent, valley grass. 

But suddenly there was the faint crackle of a 
branch to his left, and one hand instantly closed over 
his pipe bowl, the other grasping the heavy revolver 

[309] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


at his hip. Crouching like a startled tiger, with not 
a muscle moving, he peered anxiously into the dark- 
ness, his arm half extended, scarcely venturing to 
breathe. There came a plain, undisguised rustling in 
the grass, — some prowling coyote, probably ; then his 
tense muscles immediately relaxed, and he cursed 
himself for being so startled, yet he continued to 
grasp the “45 ” in his right hand, his eyes alert. 

Murphy ! 

That single word, hurled thus unexpectedly out of 
the black night, startled him more than would a volley 
of rifles. • He sprang half erect, then as swiftly 
crouched behind a willow, utterly unable to articulate. 
In God’s name, what human could be out there to 
call? He would have sworn that there was not 
another white man within a radius of a hundred miles. 
For the instant his very blood ran cold; he appeared 
to shrivel up. 

‘‘ Oh, come, Murphy ; speak up, man ; I know 
you ’re in here.” 

That terror of the unknown instantly vanished. 
This was the familiar language of the world, and, 
however the fellow came to be there, it was assuredly a 
man who spoke. With a gurgling oath at his own 
folly, Murphy’s anger flared violently forth into dis- 
jointed speech, the deadly gun yet clasped ready for 
instant action. 

Who — the hell — are ye ? ” he blurted out. 

The visitor laughed, the bushes rustling as he 
pushed toward the sound of the voice. “It’s all 
right, old boy. Gave ye quite a scare, I reckon.” 

[310] 


HAUNTING OF A CRIME 


Murphy could now dimly perceive the other ad- 
vancing through the intervening willows, and his Colt 
shot up to the level. “ Stop ! — ye take another — step 
an* I ’ll — let drive. Ye tell me — first — who ye be. ” 

The invader paused, but he realized the nervous 
finger pressing the trigger and made haste to answer. 
“It’s all right, I tell ye. I ’m one o’ Terry’s scouts.” 

“Ye are ? Jist the same — I’ve heard — yer voice 
— afore.” 

“ Likely ’nough. I saw service in the Seventh.” 

Murphy was still a trifle suspicious. “ How’d ye 
git yere ? How ’d ye come ter know — whar I vms ? ” 

The man laughed again. “ Sorter hurts yer perfes- 
sional feelins, don’t it, old feller, to be dropped in on 
in this unceremonious way ? But it was dead easy, old 
man. Ye see I happened thro’ Cheyenne only a 
couple o’ hours behind ye, with a bunch o’ papers fer 
the Yellowstone. The trail’s- plain enough out this 
far, and I loped 'long at a pretty fair hickory, so thet 
I was up on the bluff yonder, and saw ye go into camp 
yere just afore dark. You wus a-keepin’ yer eyes 
skinned across the Fourche, and naturally didn’t ex- 
pect no callers from them hills behind. The rest wus 
nuthin’, an’ here I am. It’s a darn sight pleasanter 
ter hev company travellin’, ter my notion. Now kin 
I cum on? ” 

Murphy reluctantly lowered his Colt, every move- 
ment betraying annoyance. “ I reckon. But I ’d — 
a damn sight — rather risk it — alone.” 

The stranger came forward without further hesita- 
tion. The night was far too dark to reveal features, 

[311] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


but to Murphy’s strained vision the newcomer 
appeared somewhat slender in build, and of good 
height. 

“Whar’d — ye say ye — wus bound?” 

Mouth o’ the Powder. We kin ride tergether 
fer a night or two.” 

‘^Ye kin — do as ye — please, but — I ain’t a 
huntin’ — no company, — an’ I’m a’ — goin’ ’cross 
now.” 

He advanced a few strides toward his horses. 
Then suddenly he gave vent to a smothered cry, so 
startling as to cause the stranger to spring hastily after 
him. 

“Oh! My God 1 Oh! Look there!” 

“ What is it, man? ” 

“There! there! The picture! Don’t you see ? ” 

“ Naw ; I don’t see nuthin’. Ye ain’t gone cracked, 
hev ye ? Whose picture ? ” 

“It’s there! — O Lord! — it’s there! My God ! 
can’t ye see? — An’ it’s his face — all a-gleamin’ with 
green flames — Holy Mary — an’ I ain’t seen it — 
afore in — fifteen year ! ” 

He seemed suddenly to collapse, and the stranger 
permitted him to drop limp to the earth. 

“ Darn if I kin see anythin’, old man, but I ’ll 
scout ’round thar a bit, jest ter ease yer mind, an’ see 
what I kin skeer up.” 

He had hardly taken a half-dozen steps before 
Murphy called after him: “Don’t — don’t go an’ 
leave me — it’s not there now — thet ’s queer!” 

The other returned and stood gazing down upon 
[312] 


HAUNTING OF A CRIME 


his huddled figure. ‘^You’re a fine scout! afeard o’ 
spooks. Do ye take these yere turns often ? Fer if 
ye do, I reckon as how I ’d sooner be ridin’ alone.” 

Murphy struggled to his feet and gripped the 
other’s arm. ‘‘Never hed nuthin’ like it — afore. 
But — but it was thar — all creepy — an’ green — ain’t 
seen thet face — in fifteen year.” 

“ What face ? ” 

“A — a fellow I knew — once. He — he ’s dead.” 

The other grunted, disdainfully. “ Bad luck ter 
see them sort,” he volunteered, solemnly. “ Blame 
glad it warn’t me es see it, an’ I don’t know as I keer 
much right now ’bout keepin’ company with ye fer 
very long. However, I reckon if either of us calcu- 
lates on doin’ much ridin’ ternight, we better stop 
foolin’ with ghosts, an’ go ter saddlin’ up.” 

They made rapid work of it, the newcomer 
proving somewhat loquacious, yet holding his voice to 
a judicious whisper, while Murphy relapsed into his 
customary sullen silence, but continued peering about 
nervously. It was he who led the way down the 
bank, the four horses slowly splashing through the 
shallow water to the northern shore. Before them 
stretched a broad plain, the surface rocky and uneven, 
the northern stars obscured by ridges of higher land. 
Murphy promptly gave his horse the spur, never 
once glancing behind, while the other imitated his 
example, holding his animal well in check, being 
apparently the better mounted. 

They rode silently. The unshod hoofs made 
little noise, but a loosened canteen tinkled on 

[313] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Murphy’s led horse, and he halted to fix it, uttering a 
curse. The way became more broken and rough as 
they advanced, causing them to exercise greater 
caution. Murphy clung to the hollows, apparently 
guided by some primitive instinct to choose the right 
path, or else able, like a cat, to see the way through 
the gloom, his beacon a huge rock to the northward. 
Silently hour after hour, galloping, trotting, walking, 
according to the ground underfoot, the two pressed 
grimly forward, with the unerring skill of the border, 
into the untracked wilderness. Flying clouds ob- 
scured the stars, yet through the rifts they caught 
fleeting glimpses sufficient to hold them to their 
course. And the encroaching hills swept in closer 
upon either hand, leaving them groping their way 
between as in a pocket, yet ever advancing north. 

Finally they attained to the steep bank of a 
considerable stream, found the water of sufficient 
depth to compel swimming, and crept up the opposite 
shore dripping and miserable, yet with ammunition 
dry. Murphy stood swearing disjointedly, wiping 
the blood from a wound in his forehead where the 
jagged edge of a rock had broken the skin, but 
suddenly stopped with a quick intake of breath that 
left him panting. The other man crept toward him, 
leading his horse. 

“What is it now?” he asked, gruffly. “ Hev’ ye 
got ’em agin ? ” 

The dazed old scout stared, pointing directly 
across the other’s shoulder, his arm shaking des- 
perately. 


[ 3 * 4 ] 


HAUNTING OF A CRIME 


“It’s thar ! — an’ it’s his face! Oh, God! — I 
know it — fifteen year.” 

The man glanced backward into the pitch dark- 
ness, but without moving his body. 

“ There ’s nuthin’ out there, ’less it ’s a firefly,” 
he insisted, in a tone of contempt. “You’re plum 
crazy, Murphy; the night’s got on yer nerves. 
What is it ye think ye see ? ” 

“His face, I tell ye! Don’t I know? It’s all 
green and ghastly, with snaky flames playin’ about it ! 
But I know ; fifteen years, an’ I ain’t fergot.” 

He sank down feebly — sank until he was on his 
knees, his head craned forward. The man watching 
touched the miserable, hunched-up figure compas- 
sionately, and it shook beneath his hand, endeavoring 
to shrink away. 

“ My God ! was thet you ? I thought it was him 
a-reachin’ fer me. Here, let me take yer hand. 
Oh, Lord ! An’ can’t ye see? It’s just there beyond 
them horses — all green, crawlin’, devilish — but it’s 
him.” 

“Who ? ” 

“ Brant ! Brant — fifteen year ! ” 

“Brant? Fifteen years? Do you mean Major 
Brant, the one Nolan killed over at Bethune ? ” 

“He — he didn’t — ” 

The old man heaved forward, his head rocking 
from side to side ; then suddenly he toppled over on 
his face, gasping for breath. His companion caught 
him, and ripped open the heavy flannel shirt. Then 
he strode savagely across in front of his shrinking 

[315] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


horse, tore down the flaring picture, and hastily 
thrust it into his pocket, the light of the phosphor- 
ous with which it had been rubbed being reflected for 
a moment on his features. 

“A dirty, miserable, low-down trick,** he muttered. 
“Poor old devil ! Yet I *ve got to do it, for the little girl.** 

He stumbled back through the darkness, his hat 
filled with water, and dashed it into Murphy*s face. 
“Come on, Murphy! There *s one good thing *bout 
spooks ; they don*t hang *round fer long at a time. 
Likely es not this *un is gone by now. Brace up, 
man, for you an* I have got ter get out o* here afore 
mornin*. ” 

Then Murphy grasped his arm, and drew himself 
slowly to his feet. 

“Don’t see nuthin* now, do ye? ** 

“No. Where *s my — horse?” 

The other silently reached him the loose rein, 
marking as he did so the quick, nervous peering this 
way and that, the starting at the slightest sound. 

“Did ye say, Murphy, as how it wasn’t Nolan 
after all who plugged the Major?” 

“I’m damned — if I did. Who — else was it?” 

“ Why, I dunno. Sorter blamed odd though, thet 
ghost should be a-hauntin* ye. Darn if it ain’t creepy 
’nough ter make a feller believe most anythin’.” 

Murphy drew himself up heavily into his saddle. 
Then all at once he shoved the muzzle of a “45” 
into the other’s face. “Ye say nuther word — ’bout 
thet, an* I’ll make — a ghost outer ye — blame 
lively. Now, ye shet up — if ye ride with me.” 

[3 >6] 


HAUNTING OF A CRIME 


They moved forward at a walk and reached a 
higher level, across which the night wind swept, bear- 
ing a touch of cold in its breath as though coming 
from the snow-capped mountains to the west. 
There was renewed life in this invigorating air, and 
Murphy spurred forward, his companion pressing 
steadily after. They were but two flitting shadows 
amid that vast desolation of plain and mountain, their 
horses* hoofs barely audible. What imaginings of 
evil, what visions of the past, may have filled the half- 
crazed brain of the leading horseman is unknowable. 
He rode steadily against the black night wall, as 
though unconscious of his actions, yet forgetting no 
trick, no skill of the plains. But the equally silent 
man behind clung to him like a shadow of doom, 
watching his slightest motion — a Nemesis that would 
never let go. 

When the first signs of returning day appeared in 
the east, the two left their horses in a narrow canyon, 
and crept to the summit of a ridge. Below lay the 
broad valley of the Powder. Slowly the misty light 
strengthened into gray, and became faintly tinged with 
crimson, while the green and brown tints deepened 
beneath the advancing light, which ever revealed new 
clefts in the distant hills. Amid those more northern 
bluffs a thin spiral of blue smoke was ascending. 
Undoubtedly it was some distant Indian signal, and 
the wary old plainsman watched it as if fascinated. 
But the younger man lay quietly regarding him, a 
drawn revolver in his hand. Then Murphy turned 
his head, and looked back into the other*s face. 

[317] 


CHAPTER IV 
The Verge of Confession 

M urphy uttered one sputtering cry of sur- 
prise, flinging his hand instinctively to his hip, 
but attempted no more. Hampton's ready 
weapon was thrusting its muzzle into the astounded 
face, and the gray eyes gleaming along the polished 
barrel held the fellow motionless. 

“ Hands up ! Not a move, Murphy ! I have the 
drop ! " The voice was low, but stern, and the 
old frontiersman obeyed mechanically, although his 
seamed face was fairly distorted with rage. 

‘‘You! Damn you! — I thought I knew — the 
voice." 

“Yes, I am here all right. Rather odd place for 
us to meet, isn’t it? But, you see, you ’ve had the 
advantage all these years ; you knew whom you were 
running away from, while I was compelled to plod 
along in the dark. But I ’ve caught up just the same, 
if it has been a long race.’’ 

“What do ye — want me fer?’’ The look in the 
face was cunning. 

“Hold your hands quiet — higher, you fool! 
That’s it. Now, don’t play with me. I honestly 
didn ’t know for certain I did want you, Murphy, 
when I first started out on this trip. I merely sus- 
pected that I might, from some things I had been 


VERGE OF CONFESSION 


told. When somebody took the liberty of slashing 
at my back in a poker-room at Glencaid, and drove 
the knife into Slavin by mistake, I chanced to catch 
a glimpse of the hand on the hilt, and there was a 
scar on it. About fifteen years before, I was acting as 
officer of the guard one night at Bethune. It was a 
bright starlit night, you remember, and just as I 
turned the corner of the old powder-house there came 
a sudden flash, a report, a sharp cry. I sprang for- 
ward only to fall headlong over a dead body ; but in 
that flash I had seen the hand grasping the revolver, 
and there was a scar on the back of it, a very peculiar 
scar. It chanced I had the evening previous slightly 
quarrelled with the officer who was killed; I was the 
only person known to be near at the time he was 
shot; certain other circumstantial evidence was dug 
up, while Slavin and one other — no, it was not you 
— gave some damaging, manufactured testimony 
against me. As a result I was held guilty of murder 
in the second degree, dismissed the army in disgrace, 
and sentenced to ten years* imprisonment. So, you 
see, it was not exactly you I have been hunting, 
Murphy, — it was a scar.’* 

Murphy’s face was distorted into a hideous grin. 

‘‘ I notice you bear exactly that kind of a scar, my 
man, and you spoke last night as if you had some 
recollection of the case.” 

The mocking grin expanded; into the husky voice 
crept a snarl of defiance, for now Murphy’s courage had 
come back — he was fronting flesh and blood. ‘‘Oh, 
stop preachin’ — an’ shoot — an’ be damned ter ye!” 

[319] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“You do me a grave injustice, Murphy. In the 
first place, I do not possess the nature of an Indian, 
and am not out for revenge. Your slashing at me 
down in Glencaid has n’t left so much as a sting be- 
hind. It’s completely blotted out, forgotten. I 
haven’t the slightest desire to kill you, man; but I do 
want to clear my name of the stain of that crime. I 
want you to tell the whole truth about that night’s 
work at Bethune; and when you have done so, you 
can go. I ’ll never lay a finger on you ; you can go 
where you please.” 

“ Bah ! — ye ain’t got no proof — agin me — ’sides, 
the case is closed — it can’t be opened agin — by 
law.” 

“You devil! I’d be perfectly justified in killing 
you,” exclaimed Hampton, savagely. 

Murphy stared at him stupidly, the cunning of 
incipient insanity in his eyes. “En’ whar — do ye 
expect — me ter say — all this, pervidin’, of course 
— I wus fule ’nough — ter do it ? ” 

“Up yonder before Custer and the officers of the 
Seventh, when we get in.” 

“They’d nab me — likely.” 

“ Now, see here, you say it is impossible for them 
to touch you, because the case is closed legally. Now, 
you do not care very much for the opinion of others, 
while from every other standpoint you feel perfectly 
safe. But I ’ve had to suffer for your crime, Murphy, 
suffer for fifteen years, ten of them behind stone 
walls ; and there are others who have suffered with 
me. It has cost me love, home, all that a man holds 
[320] 


VERGE OF CONFESSION 


dear. I Ve borne this punishment for you, paid the 
penalty of your act to the full satisfaction of the law. 
The very least you can do in ordinary decency is to 
speak the truth now. It will not hurt you, but it will 
lift me out of hell.” 

Murphy’s eyes were cunning, treacherously shift- 
ing under the thatch of his heavy brows; he was like 
an old rat seeking for any hole of refuge. “Well 
— maybe I might. Anyhow, I’ll go on — with ye. 
Kin I sit up ? I’m dog tired — lyin’ yere.” 

“Unbuckle your belt, and throw that over first.” 

“I’m damned — if I will. Not — in no Injun — 
country.” 

“ I know it’s tough,” retorted Hampton, with ex- 
asperating coolness, his revolver’s muzzle held steady ; 
“but, just the same, it’s got to be done. I know 
you far too well to take chances on your gun. So 
unlimber.” 

“Oh, I — guess not,” and Murphy spat contemptu- 
ously. “ Do ye think — I’m afeard o’ yer — shootin’ ? 
Ye don’t dare — fer I ’m no good ter ye — dead.” 

“You are perfectly right. You are quite a philos- 
opher in your way. You would be no good to me 
dead, Murphy, but you might prove fully as valuable 
maimed. Now I ’m playing this game to the limit, 
and that limit is just about reached. You unlimber 
before I count ten, you murderer, or I ’ll spoil both 
your hands ! ” 

The mocking, sardonic grin deserted Murphy’s 
features. It was sullen obstinacy, not doubt of the 
other’s purpose, that paralyzed him. 

[321] 


BOB HAMPT'ON OF PLACER 


“ Unlimber! It’s the last call.” 

With a snarl the scout unclasped his army belt, 
dropped it to the ground, and sullenly kicked it over 
toward Hampton. “Now — now — you, you gray- 
eyed — devil, kin I — sit up ? ” 

The other nodded. He had drawn the fangs of 
the wolf, and now that he no longer feared, a sudden, 
unexplainable feeling of sympathy took possession of 
him. Yet he drew farther away before slipping his 
own gun into its sheath. For a time neither spoke, 
their eyes peering across the ridge. Murphy sput- 
tered and swore, but his victorious companion neither 
spoke nor moved. There were several distant smokes 
out to the northward now, evidently the answering 
signals of different bands of savages, while far away, 
beneath the shadow of the low bluffs bordering the 
stream, numerous black, moving dots began to show 
against the light brown background. Hampton, 
noticing that Murphy had stopped swearing to gaze, 
swung forward his field-glasses for a better view. 

“ They are Indians, right enough,” he said, at last. 
“ Here, take a look, Murphy. I could count about 
twenty in that bunch, and they are travelling north.” 

The older man adjusted the tubes to his eyes, and 
looked long and steadily at the party. Then he 
slowly swung the glasses toward the northwest, ap- 
parently studying the country inch by inch, his jaws 
working spasmodically, his unoccupied hand clutching 
nervously at the grass. 

“They seem — to be a-closin’ in,” he declared, 
finally, staring around into the other’s face, all bravado 

[322] 


VERGE OF CONFESSION 


gone. ^‘There’s another lot — bucks, all o* ’em — 
out west yonder — an’ over east a smudge is — just 
startin’. Looks like — we wus in a pocket — an’ 
thar’ might be some — har-raisin’ fore long.” 

‘‘Well, Murphy, you are the older hand at this 
business. What do you advise doing ? ” 

“Me? Why, push right ’long — while we kin 
keep under cover. Then — after dark — trust ter 
bull luck an’ make — ’nuther dash. It’s mostly luck, 
anyhow. Thet canyon just ahead — looks like it 
leads a long way. — toward the Powder. Its middling 
deep down, an’ if there ain’t Injuns in it — them 
fellers out yonder — never cud git no sight at us. 
Thet’s my notion — thet ivery mile helps in this — 
business.” 

“ You mean we should start now ? ” 

“ Better — let the cattle rest — first. An’ — if ye 
ever feed prisoners — I ’d like ter eat a bite — mesilf” 
They rested there for over two hours, the tired 
horses contentedly munching the succulent grass of 
the coulee^ their two masters scarcely exchanging a 
word. Murphy, after satisfying his appetite, rested 
flat upon his back, one arm flung over his eyes to 
protect them from the sun. For a considerable time 
Hampton supposed him asleep, until he accidentally 
caught the stealthy glance which followed his slightest 
movement, and instantly realized that the old weasel 
was alert. Murphy had been beaten, yet evidently 
remained unconquered, biding his chance with savage 
stoicism, and the other watched him warily even while 
seeming to occupy himself with the field-glass. 

[323] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


At last they saddled up, and, at first leading 
their horses, passed down the coulee into the more 
precipitous depths of the narrow canyon. This proved 
hardly more than a gash cut through the rolling 
prairie, rock strewn, holding an insignificant stream of 
brackish water, yet was an ideal hiding-place, having 
ample room for easy passage between the rock walls. 
The men mounted, and Hampton, with a wave of his 
hand, bade the old scout assume the lead. 

Their early advance was slow and cautious, as they 
never felt certain what hidden enemies might lurk 
behind the sharp corners of the winding defile, and 
they kept vigilant eyes upon the serrated sky-line. 
The savages were moving north, and so were they. It 
would be remarkably good fortune if they escaped 
running into some wandering band, or if some stray 
scout did not stumble upon their trail. So they con- 
tinued to plod on. 

It was fully three o’clock when they attained to the 
bank of the Powder, and crouched among the rocks to 
wait for the shades of night to shroud their further 
advance. Murphy climbed the bluff for a wider view, 
bearing Hampton’s field-glasses slung across his shoul- 
der, for the latter would not leave him alone with the 
horses. He returned finally to grunt out that there 
was nothing special in sight, except a shifting of those 
smoke signals to points farther north. Then they 
lay down again, Hampton smoking, Murphy either 
sleeping or pretending to sleep. And slowly the 
shadows of another black night swept down and shut 
them in. 


[324] 


VERGE OF CONFESSION 


It must have been two hours later when they ven- 
tured forth. Silence and loneliness brooded every- 
where, not so much as a breath of air stirring the 
leaves. The unspeakable, unsolvable mystery of it 
all rested like a weight on the spirits of both men. It 
was a disquieting thought that bands of savages, eager 
to discover and slay, were stealing among the shadows 
of those trackless plains, and that they must literally 
feel their uncertain way through the cordon, every 
sound an alarm, every advancing step a fresh peril. 
They crossed the swift, deep stream, and emerged 
dripping, chilled to the marrow by the icy water. 
Then they swung stiffly into the wet saddles, and 
plunged, with almost reckless abandon, through the 
darkness. Murphy continued to lead, the light tread 
of his horse barely audible, Hampton pressing closely 
behind, revolver in hand, the two pack-horses trailing 
in the rear. Hampton had no confidence in his 
sullen, treacherous companion ; he looked for early 
trouble, yet he had little fear regarding any attempt 
at escape now. Murphy was a plainsman, and would 
realize the horror of being alone, unarmed, and with- 
out food on those demon-haunted prairies. Besides, 
the silent man behind was astride the better animal. 

Midnight, and they pulled up amid the deeper 
gloom of a great, overhanging bluff, having numerous 
trees near its summit. There was the glow of a distant 
fire upon their left, which reddened the sky, and re- 
flected oddly on the edges of a vast cloud-mass rol- 
ling up threateningly from the west. Neither knew 
definitely where they were, although Murphy guessed 

[325] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


the narrow stream they had just forded might be the 
upper waters of the Tongue. Their horses stood 
with heads hanging wearily down, their sides rising 
and falling; and Hampton, rolling stiffly from the 
saddle, hastily loosened his girth. 

They dl drop under us if we don’t give them an 
hour or two,” he said, quietly. They ’re both dead 
beat.” 

Murphy muttered something, incoherent and 
garnished with oaths, and the moment he succeeded 
in releasing the buckle, sank down limp at the very 
feet of his horse, rolling up into a queer ball. The 
other stared, and took a step nearer. 

“What’s the matter? Are you sick, Murphy?” 

“No — tired — don’t want ter see — thet thing 
agin.” 

“ What thing? ” 

“Thet green, devilish, — crawlin’ face — if ye must 
know ! ” And he twisted his long, ape-like arms across 
his eyes, lying curled up as a dog might. 

For a moment Hampton stood gazing .down upon 
him, listening to his incoherent mutterings, his own 
face grave and sympathetic. Then he moved back 
and sat down. Suddenly the full conception of what 
this meant came to his mind — the man had gone mad. 
The strained cords of that diseased brain had snapped 
in the presence of imagined terrors, and now all was 
chaos. The horror of it overwhelmed Hampton ; 
not only did this unexpected denouement leave him 
utterly hopeless, but what was he to do with the 
fellow? How could he bring him forth from there 
[326] 


VERGE OF CONFESSION 


alive? If this stream was indeed the Tongue, then 
many a mile of rough country, ragged with low 
mountains and criss-crossed by deep ravines, y?t 
stretched between where they now were and the 
Little Big Horn, where they expected to find Custer's 
men. They were in the very heart of the Indian 
country, — the country of the savage Sioux. He 
stared at the curled-up man, now silent and breathing 
heavily as if asleep. The silence was profound, the 
night so black and lonely that Hampton involuntarily 
closed his heavy eyes to shut it out. If he only 
might light a pipe, or boil himself a cup of black 
coffee ! Murphy never stirred ; the horses were 
seemingly too weary to browse. Then Hampton 
nodded, and sank into an uneasy doze. 


[327] 


CHAPTER V 
Alone with the Insane 

B eneath the shade of uplifted arms Murphy's 
eyes remained unclosed. Whatever terrors may 
have dominated that diseased brain, the one 
purpose of revenge and escape never deserted it. 
With patient cunning he could plan and wait, scheme 
and execute. He was all animal now, dreaming only 
of how to tear and kill. 

And he waited long in order to be perfectly sure, 
unrolling inch by inch, and like a venomous snake, 
never venturing to withdraw his baleful eyes from his 
unconscious victim. He was many minutes thor- 
oughly satisfying himself that Hampton actually 
slept. His every movement was slow, crafty, cow- 
ardly, the savage in his perverted nature becoming 
more and more manifest. It was more beast than man 
that finally crept forward on all-fours, the eyes gleam- 
ing cruel as a cat’s in the night. It was not far he 
was compelled to go, his movements squirming and 
noiseless. Within a yard of the peacefully slumber- 
ing man he rose up, crouching on his toes and 
bending stealthily forward to gloat over his victim. 
Hampton stirred uneasily, possibly feeling the close 
proximity of that horrible presence. Then the maniac 
took one more stealthy, slouching step nearer, and 
flung himself at the exposed throat, uttering a fierce 


ALONE WITH THE INSANE 


snarl as his fingers clutched the soft flesh. Hampton 
awoke, gasping and choking, to find those mad eyes 
glaring into his own, those murderous hands throt- 
tling him with the strength of madness. 

At first the stupefied, half-awakened man strug- 
gled as if in delirium, scarcely realizing the danger. 
He was aware of suffering, of horror, of suffocation. 
Then the brain flashed into life, and he grappled 
fiercely with his dread antagonist. Murphy snapped 
like a mad dog, his lips snarling curses ; but Hamp- 
ton fought silently, desperately, his brain clearing as 
he succeeded in wrenching those claws from his lacer- 
ated throat, and forced his way up on to one knee. 
He felt no hatred toward this crazed man striving 
to kill him ; he understood what had loosed such a 
raging devil. But this was no time to exhibit mercy ; 
Murphy bit and clawed, and Hampton could only 
dash in upon him in the effort to force him back. 
He worked his way, inch by inch, to his feet, his 
slender figure rigid as steel, and closed in upon the 
other; but Murphy writhed out of his grasp, as a 
snake might. The younger man realized now to the 
full his peril, and his hand slipped down to the gun 
upon his hip. There was a sudden glint in the faint 
starlight as he struck, and the stunned maniac went 
down quivering, and lay motionless on the hard 
ground. For a moment the other remained standing 
over him, the heavy revolver poised, but the pros- 
trate figure lay still, and the conqueror slipped his 
weapon back into its leather sheath with a sigh of 
relief. 


[329] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


The noise of their struggle must have carried far 
through that solemn stillness, and no one could guess 
how near at hand might be bands of prowling savages. 
Yet no sound came to his strained ears except the soft 
soughing of the night wind through the trees, and the 
rustling of grass beneath the tread of the horses. 
With the quick decision of one long accustomed to 
meet emergencies, Hampton unbuckled the lariat from 
one of the led animals, and bound Murphy’s hands 
and limbs securely. 

As he worked he thought rapidly. He compre- 
hended the extreme desperation of their present situa- 
tion. While the revolver blow might possibly restore 
Murphy to a degree of sanity, it was far more prob- 
able that he would awaken violent. Yet he could not 
deliberately leave this man to meet a fate of horror in 
the wilderness. Which way should they turn ^ Enough 
food, if used sparingly, might remain to permit of a 
hasty retreat to Cheyenne, and there would be com- 
paratively little danger in that direction. All visible 
signs indicated that the scattered Indian bands were 
rapidly consolidating to the northward, closing in on 
those troops scouting the Yellowstone, with determi- 
nation to give early battle. Granting that the stream 
they were now on should prove to be the Tongue, 
then the direct route toward where Custer was supposed 
to be would be northwest, leading ever deeper into the 
lonely wilderness, and toward more imminent peril. 
Then, at the end of that uncertain journey, they might 
easily miss Custer’s column. That which would have 
been quickly decided had he been alone became a 

[330] 


ALONE WITH THE INSANE 


most serious problem when considered in connection 
with thh insane, helpless scout. But then, there were 
the despatches ! They must be of vital importance 
to have required the sending of Murphy forth on so 
dangerous a ride ; other lives, ay, the result of the en- 
tire campaign, might depend upon their early delivery. 
Hampton had been a soldier, the spirit of the service 
was still with him, and that thought brought him to 
final decision. Unless they were halted by Sioux 
bullets, they would push on toward the Big Horn, and 
Custer should have the papers. 

He knelt down beside Murphy, unbuckled the 
leather despatch-bag, and rebuckled it across his own 
shoulder. Then he set to work to revive the pros- 
trate man. The eyes, when opened, stared up at 
him, wild and glaring; the ugly face bore the expres- 
sion of abject fear. The man was no longer violent; 
he had become a child, frightened at the dark. His 
ceaseless babbling, his incessant cries of terror, only 
rendered more precarious any attempt at pressing 
forward through a region overrun with hostiles. But 
Hampton had resolved. 

Securely strapping Murphy to his saddle, and 
packing all their remaining store of provisions upon 
one horse, leaving the other to follow or remain 
behind as it pleased, he advanced directly into the 
hills, steering by aid of the stars, his left hand ever on 
Murphy’s bridle rein, his low voice of expostulation 
seeking to calm the other’s wild fancies and to curb 
his violent speech. It was a weird, wild ride through 
the black night, unknown ground under foot, unseen 

[331] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


dangers upon every hand. Murphy’s aberrations 
changed from shrieking terror to a wild, uncontrollable 
hilarity, with occasional outbursts of violent anger, 
when it required all Hampton’s iron will and muscle 
to conquer him. 

At dawn they were in a narrow gorge among the 
hills, a dark and gloomy hole, yet a peculiarly safe spot 
in which to hide, having steep, rocky ledges on either 
side, with sufficient grass for the horses. Leaving 
Murphy bound, Hampton clambered up the front 
of the rock to where he was able to look out. All 
was silent, and his heart sank as he surveyed the brown 
sterile hills stretching to the horizon, having merely 
narrow gulches of rock and sand between, the sheer 
nakedness of the picture unrelieved by green shrub or 
any living thing. Then, almost despairing, he slid 
back, stretched himself out amid the soft grass, and 
sank into the slumber of exhaustion, his last conscious 
memory the incoherent babbling of his insane com- 
panion. 

He awoke shortly after noon, feeling refreshed 
and renewed in both body and mind. Murphy was 
sleeping when he first turned to look at him, but he 
awoke in season to be fed, and accepted the proffered 
food with all the apparent delight of a child. While 
he rested, their remaining pack-animal had strayed, 
and Hampton was compelled to go on with only the 
two horses, strapping the depleted store of provisions 
behind his own saddle. Then he carefully hoisted 
Murphy into place and bound his feet beneath the 
animal’s belly, the poor fellow gibbering at him, in 

[332] 


ALONE WITH THE INSANE 


appearance an utter imbecile, although exhibiting 
periodic flashes of malignant passion. Then he 
resumed the journey down one of those sand-strewn 
depressions pointing toward the Rosebud, pressing the 
refreshed ponies into a canter, confident now that 
their greatest measure of safety lay in audacity. 

Apparently his faith in the total desertion of these 
‘‘ bad lands'' by the Indians was fully justified, for they 
continued steadily mile after mile, meeting with no evi- 
dence of life anywhere. Still the travelling was good, 
with here and there little streams of icy water trickling 
over the rocks. They made most excellent progress, 
Hampton ever grasping the bit of Murphy's horse, his 
anxious thought more upon his helpless companion in 
misery than upon the possible perils of the route. 

It was already becoming dusk when they swept 
down into a little nest of green trees and grass. It 
appeared so suddenly, and was such an unexpected 
oasis amid that surrounding wilderness, that Hampton 
gave vent to a sudden exclamation of delight. But 
that was all. Instantly he perceived numerous dark 
forms leaping from out the shrubbery, and he wheeled 
his horses to the left, lashing them into a rapid run. 
It was all over in a moment — a sputtering of rifles, 
a wild medley of cries, a glimpse of savage figures, 
and the two were tearing down the rocks", the din of 
pursuit dying away behind them. The band were 
evidently all on foot, yet Hampton continued to press 
his mount at a swift pace, taking turn after turn about 
the sharp hills, confident that the hard earth would 
leave no trace of their passage. 

[333] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Then suddenly the horse he rode sank like a log, 
but his tight grip upon the rein of the other landed 
him on his feet. Murphy laughed, in fiendish mer- 
riment ; but Hampton looked down on the dead 
horse, noting the stream of blood oozing out from 
behind the shoulder. A stray Sioux bullet had found 
its mark, but the gallant animal had struggled on until 
it dropped lifeless ; and the brave man it had borne 
so long and so well bent down and stroked tenderly 
the unconscious head. Then he shifted the provisions 
to the back of the other horse, grasped the loose rein 
once more in his left hand, and started forward on 
foot. 


[334] 


CHAPTER VI 
On the Little Big Horn 

N TROOP, guarding, much to their emphatically 
expressed disgust, the more slowly moving 
pack-train, were following Custer’s advancing 
column of horsemen down the right bank of the 
Little Big Horn. The troopers, carbines at knee, 
sitting erect in their saddles, their faces browned by the 
hot winds of the plains, were riding steadily northward. 
Beside them, mounted upon a rangy chestnut, Brant 
kept his watchful eyes on those scattered flankers 
dotting the summit of the near-by bluff. Suddenly 
one of these waved his hand eagerly, and the lieuten- 
ant went dashing up the sharp ascent. 

What is it, now. Lane ? ” 

Somethin’ movin’ jist out yonder, sir,” and the 
trooper pointed into the southeast. “They’re down 
in a coulee now, I reckon ; but will be up on a ridge 
agin in a minute. I got sight of ’em twice afore I 
waved.” 

The officer gazed earnestly in the direction indi- 
cated, and was almost immediately rewarded by the 
glimpse of some indistinct, dark figures dimly showing 
against the lighter background of sky. He brought 
his field-glasses to a focus. 

“ White men,” he announced, shortly. “ Come 
with me.” 


[335] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


At a brisk trot they rode out, the trooper lagging 
a pace to the rear, the watchful eyes of both men 
sweeping suspiciously across the prairie. The two 
parties met suddenly upon the summit of a sharp 
ridge, and Brant drew in his horse with an exclamation 
of astonishment. It was a pathetic spectacle he stared 
at, — a horse scarcely able to stagger forward, his flanks 
quivering from exhaustion, his head hanging limply 
down ; on his back, with feet strapped securely beneath 
and hands bound to the high pommel, the lips grinning 
ferociously, perched a misshapen creature clothed as 
a man. Beside these, hatless, his shoes barely holding 
together, a man of slender figure and sunburnt face 
held the bridle-rein. An instant they gazed at each 
other, the young officer’s eyes filled with sympathetic 
horror, the other staring apathetically at his rescuer. 

My God ! Can this be you, Hampton?” and 
the startled lieutenant flung himself from his horse. 

What does it mean ? Why are you here ? ” 

Hamptoo, leaning against the trembling horse to 
keep erect, slowly lifted his hand in a semblance of 
military salute. Despatches from Cheyenne. This 
is Murphy — went crazy out yonder. For God’s 
sake — water, food ! ” 

‘‘ Your canteen. Lane ! ” exclaimed Brant. “ Now 
hold this cup,” and he dashed into it a liberal supply 
of brandy from a pocket-flask. ‘‘ Drink that all down, 
Hampton.” 

The man did mechanically as he was ordered, his 
hand never relaxing its grasp of the rein. Then a 
gleam of reawakened intelligence appeared in his eyes ; 

[336] 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


he glanced up into the leering countenance of Murphy, 
and then back at those others. ‘‘ Give me another 
for him.'* 

Brant handed to him the filled cup, noting as he 
did so the strange steadiness of the hand which accepted 
it. Hampton lifted the tin to the figure in the saddle, 
his own gaze directed straight into the eyes as he might 
seek to control a wild animal. 

“ Drink it," he commanded, curtly, “ every drop ! " 

For an instant the maniac glared back at him 
sullenly ; then he appeared to shrink in terror, and 
drank swiftly. 

‘‘ We can make the rest of the way now," Hampton 
announced, quietly. “ Lord, but this has been a trip ! " 

Lane dismounted at Brant's order, and assisted 
Hampton to climb into the vacated saddle. Then the 
trooper grasped the rein of Murphy's horse, and the 
little party started toward where the pack-train was 
hidden in the valley. The young officer rode silent and 
at a walk, his eyes occasionally studying the face of 
the other and noting its drawn, gray look. The very 
sight of Hampton had been a shock. Why was he here 
and with Murphy ? Could this strange journey have 
anything to do with Naida? Could it concern his 
own future, as well as hers ? He felt no lingering 
jealousy of this man, for her truthful words had for- 
ever settled that matter. Yet who was he? What 
peculiar power did he wield over her life ? 

“ Is Custer here?" said Hampton. 

“No; that is, not with my party. We are guarding 
the pack-train. The others are ahead, and Custer, 

[337] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


with five troops, has moved to the right. He is some- 
where among those ridges back of the bluff.” 

The man turned and looked where the officer pointed, 
shading his eyes with his hand. Before him lay only 
the brown, undulating waves of upland, a vast desert 
of burnt grass, shimmering under the hot sun. 

Can you give me a fresh horse, a bite to eat, and 
a cup of coffee, down there ? ” he asked, anxiously. 
“ You see I Ve got to go on.” 

“ Go on ? Good God ! man, do you realize what 
you are saying ? Why, you can hardly sit the saddle 1 
You carry despatches, you say? Well, there are 
plenty of good men in my troop who will volunteer 
to take them on. You need rest.” 

“ Not much,” said Hampton. “I’m fit enough, 
or shall be as soon as I get food. Good Lord, boy, 
I am not done up yet, by a long way! It’s the 
cursed loneliness out yonder,” he swept his hand 
toward the horizon, “and the having to care for him, 
that has broken my heart. He went that way clear 
back on the Powder, and it’s been a fight between us 
ever since. I ’ll be all right now if you lads will only 
look after him. This is going to reach Custer, and 
I ’ll take it ! ” He flung back his ragged coat, his 
hand on the despatch-bag. “ I ’ve earned the right.” 

Brant reached forth his hand cordially. “That’s 
true; you have. What’s more, if you ’re able to make 
the trip, there is no one here who will attempt to stop 
you. But now tell me how this thing happened. 
I want to know the story before we get in.” 

For a moment Hampton remained silent, his 

[338] 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


thoughtful gaze on the near-by videttes, his hands 
leaning heavily upon the saddle pommel. Perhaps 
he did not remember clearly ; possibly he could not 
instantly decide just how much of that story to tell. 
Brant suspected this last to be his difficulty, and he 
spoke impulsively. 

“ Hampton, there has been trouble and misunder- 
standing between us, but that's all past and gone now. 
I sincerely believe in your purpose of right, and I 
ask you to trust me. Either of us would give his life 
if need were, to be of real service to a little girl back 
yonder in the hills. I don't know what you are to 
her; I don't ask. I know she has every confidence 
in you, and that is enough. Now, I want to do what 
is right with both of you, and if you have a word to 
say to me regarding this matter, I 'll treat it confiden- 
tially. This trip with Murphy has some bearing upon 
Naida Gillis, has it not? " 

“Yes." 

“Will you tell me the story?" 

The thoughtful gray eyes looked at him long and 
searchingly. “ Brant, do you love that girl ?" 

Just as unwaveringly the blue eyes returned the 
look. “ I do. I have asked her to become my wife." 

“And her answer ? " 

“ She said no ; that a dead man was between us." 

“ Is that all you know ? " 

The younger man bent his head, his face grave 
and perplexed. “ Practically all." 

Hampton wet his dry lips with his tongue, his 
breath quickening. 


[339] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“And in that she was right,” he said at last, his 
eyes lowered to the ground. “ I will tell you why. 
It was the father of Naida Gillis who was convicted of 
the murder of Major Brant.” 

“Oh, my father? Is she Captain Nolan’s daugh- 
ter? But you say ‘convicted.’ Was there ever any 
doubt ? Do you question his being guilty ?” 

Hampton pointed in silence to the hideous crea- 
ture behind them. “ That man could tell, but he 
has gone mad.” 

Brant endeavored to speak, but the words would 
not come ; his brain seemed paralyzed. Hampton 
held himself under better control. 

“ I have confidence, Lieutenant Brant, in your 
honesty,” he began, gravely, “ and I believe you will 
strive to do whatever is best for her, if anything 
should happen to me out yonder. But for the possi- 
bility of my being knocked out, I would n’t talk 
about this, not even to you. The affair is a long way 
from being straightened out so as to make a pleas- 
ant story, but I ’ll give you all you actually require to 
know in order to make it clear to her, provided I 
shouldn’t come back. You see, she doesn’t know 
very much more than you do — only what I was 
obliged to tell to keep her from getting too deeply 
entangled with you. Maybe I ought to have given 
her the full story before I started on this trip. I ’ve 
since wished I had, but you see, I never dreamed it 
was going to end here, on the Big Horn ; besides, 
I did n’t have the nerve.” 

He swept his heavy eyes across the brown and 

[340] 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


desolate prairie, and back to the troubled face of the 
younger man. ‘‘You see, Brant, I feel that I simply 
have to carry these despatches through. I have a pride 
in giving them to Custer myself, because of the trouble 
I Ve had in getting them here. But perhaps I may 
not come back, and in that case there would n*t be 
any one living to tell her the truth. That thought 
has bothered me ever since I pulled out of Cheyenne. 
It seems to me that there is going to be a big fight 
somewhere in these hills before long. I Ve seen a lot 
of Indians riding north within the last four days, and 
they were all bucks, rigged out in war toggery, Sioux 
and Cheyennes. Ever since we crossed the Fourche 
those fellows have been in evidence, and it 's my notion 
that Custer has a heavier job on his hands, right at 
this minute, than he has any conception of. So I want 
to leave these private papers with you until I come 
back. It will relieve my mind to know they are safe; 
if I don’t come, then I want you to open them and do 
whatever you decide is best for the little girl. You 
will do that, won’t you ? ” 

He handed over a long manila envelope securely 
sealed, and the younger man accepted it, noticing that 
it was unaddressed before depositing it safely in an 
inner pocket of his fatigue jacket. 

“ Certainly, Hampton, he said. “ Is that all ? ” 

“ All except what I am going to tell you now re- 
garding Murphy. There is no use my attempting to 
explain exactly how I chanced to find out all these 
things, for they came to me little by little during several 
vears. I knew Nolan, and I knew your father, and I 

[341] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


had reason to doubt the guilt of the Captain, in spite of 
the verdict of the jury that condemned him. In fact, I 
knew at the time, although it was not in my power to 
prove it, that the two principal witnesses against Nolan 
lied. I thought I could guess why, but we drifted 
apart, and finally I lost all track of every one connected 
with the affair. Then I happened to pick up that girl 
down in the canyon beyond the Bear Water, and 
pulled her out alive just because she chanced to be of 
that sex, and I could n't stand to see her fall into Indian 
clutches. I did n’t feel any special interest in her at 
the time, supposing she belonged to Old Gillis, but she 
somehow grew on me — she’s that kind, you know; 
and when I discovered, purely by accident, that she 
was Captain Nolan’s girl, but that it all had been kept 
from her, I just naturally made up my mind I ’d dig 
out the truth if I possibly could, for her sake. The 
fact is, I began to think a lot about her — not the way 
you do, you understand ; I’m getting too old for 
that, and have known too much about women, — but 
maybe somewhat as a father might feel. Anyhow, I 
wanted to give her a chance, a square deal, so that she 
would n’t be ashamed of her own name if ever she 
found out what it was.” 

He paused, his eyes filled with memories, and 
passed his hand through his uncovered hair. 

“About that time I fell foul of Murphy and 
Slavin there in Glencaid,” he went on quickly, as if 
anxious to conclude. “ I never got my eyes on Mur- 
phy, you know, and Slavin was so changed by that big 
red beard that I failed to recognize him. But their 
[342] 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


actions aroused my suspicions, and I went after them 
good and hard. I wanted to find out what they knew, 
and why those lies were told on Nolan at the trial. I 
had an idea they could tell me. So, for a starter, I 
tackled Slavin, supposing we were alone, and I was 
pumping the facts out of him successfully by hold- 
ing a gun under his nose, and occasionally jogging 
his memory, when this fellow Murphy got excited, 
and chasseed into the game, but happened to nip his 
partner instead of me. In the course of our little 
s-cuffle I chanced to catch a glimpse of the fellow’s 
right hand, and it had a scar on the back of it that 
looked mighty familiar. I had seen it before, and I 
wanted to see it again. So, when I got out of that 
scrape, and the doctor had dug a stray bullet out of 
my anatomy, there did n’t seem to be any one left for 
me to chase excepting Murphy, for Slavin was dead. 
I was n’t exactly sure he was the owner of that scar, 
but I had my suspicions and wanted to verify them. 
Having struck his trail, I reached Cheyenne just 
about four hours after he left there with these de- 
spatches for the Big Horn. I caught up with the 
fellow on the south bank of the Belle Fourche, and 
being well aware that no threats or gun play would 
ever force him to confess the truth, I undertook 
to frighten him by trickery. I brought along some 
drawing-paper and drew your father’s picture in 
phosphorus, and gave him the benefit in the dark. 
That caught Murphy all right, and everything 
was coming my way. He threw up his hands, and 
even agreed to come in here with me, and tell the 

[343] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


whole story, but the poor fellow's brain could n't 
stand the strain of the scare I had given him. He 
went raving mad on the Powder; he jumped on me 
while 1 was asleep, and since then every mile has been 
a little hell. That 's the whole of it to date." 

They were up with the pack-train by now, and the 
cavalrymen gazed with interest at the new arrivals. 
Several among them seemed to recognize Murphy, 
and crowded about his horse with rough expressions of 
sympathy. Brant scarcely glanced at them, his grave 
eyes on Hampton's stern face. 

^^And what is it you wish me to do ? " 

“Take care of Murphy. Don’t let him remain 
alone for a minute. If he has any return of reason, 
compel him to talk. He knows you, and will be as 
greatly frightened at your presence and knowledge as 
at mine. Besides, you have fully as much at stake as 
any one, for in no other way can the existing barrier 
between Naida and yourself be broken down.” 

Insisting that now he felt perfectly fit for any ser- 
vice, the impatient Hampton was quickly supplied with 
the necessary food and clothing, while Murphy, grown 
violently abusive, was strapped on a litter between two 
mules, a guard on either side. Brant rode with the 
civilian on a sharp trot as far as the head of the pack- 
train, endeavoring to the very last to persuade the 
wearied man to relinquish this work to another. 

“Foster,” he said to the sergeant in commandof the 
advance, “did you chance to notice just what coulee Cus- 
ter turned into when his column swung to the right?” 

“I think it must have been the second yonder, sir; 

[344] 


ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN 


where you see that bunch of trees. We was a long 
ways back, but I could see the boys plain enough 
as they come out on the bluff up there. Some of 
'em waved their hats back at us. Is this man goin' 
after them, sir 

“Yes, he has despatches from Cheyenne." 

“Well, he ought ter have no trouble findin' the 
trail. It ought ter be 'bout as plain as a road back in 
God's country, sir, fer there were more than two hun- 
dred horses, and they 'd leave a good mark even on 
hard ground." 

Brant held out his hand. “I'll certainly do all in 
my power, Hampton, to bring this out right. You 
can rely on that, and I will be faithful to the little girl. 
Now, just a word to guide you regarding our situation 
here. We have every reason for believing that the 
Sioux are in considerable force in our front some- 
where, and not far down this stream. Nobody knows 
just how strong they are, but it looks to me as if we 
were pretty badly split up for a very heavy engage- 
ment. Not that I question Custer's plan, you under- 
stand, only he may be mistaken about what the Indians 
will do. Benteen's battalion is out there to the west; 
Reno is just ahead of us up the valley; while Custer 
has taken five troops on a detour to the right across the 
bluffs, hoping to come down on the rear of the Sioux. 
The idea is to crush them between the three columns. 
No one of these detachments has more than two 
hundred men, yet it may come out all right if they 
only succeed in striking together. Still it 's risky in 
such rough country, not knowing exactly where the 

[345] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


enemy is. Well, good luck to you, and take care 
of yourself.’' 

The two men clasped hands, their eyes filled with 
mutual confidence. Then Hampton touched spurs to 
his horse, and galloped swiftly forward. 


[346] 


CHAPTER VII 
The Fight in the Valley 

F ar below, in the heart of the sunny depression 
bordering the left bank of the Little Big Horn, 
the stalwart troopers under Reno’s command 
gazed up the steep bluff to wave farewell to their com- 
rades disappearing to the right. Last of ail, Custer 
halted his horse an instant, silhouetted against the blue 
sky, and swung his hat before spurring out of sight. 

The plan of battle was most simple and direct. It 
involved a nearly simultaneous attack upon the vast In- 
dian village from below and above, success depending 
altogether upon the prompt cooperation of the separate 
detachments. This was understood by every trooper 
in the ranks. Scarcely had Custer’s slender column 
of horsemen vanished across the summit before Reno’s 
command advanced, trotting down the valley, the 
Ankara scouts in the lead. They had been chosen 
to strike the first blow, to force their way into the 
lower village, and thus to draw the defending warriors 
to their front, while Custer’s men were to charge 
upon the rear. It was an old trick of the Seventh, 
and not a man in saddle ever dreamed the plan 
could fail. 

A half-mile, a mile, Reno’s troops rode, with no 
sound breaking the silence but the pounding of hoofs, 
the tinkle of accoutrements. Then, rounding a sharp 

[347] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


projection of earth and rock, the scattered lodges of the 
Indian village already partially revealed to those in ad- 
vance, the riders were brought to sudden halt by a 
fierce crackling of rifles from rock and ravine, an out- 
burst of fire in their faces, the wild, resounding screech 
of war-cries, and the scurrying across their front of 
dense bodies of mounted warriors, hideous in paint 
and feathers. Men fell cursing, and the frightened 
horses swerved, their riders struggling madly with their 
mounts, the column thrown into momentary con- 
fusion. But the surprised cavalrymen, quailing be- 
neath the hot fire poured into them, rallied to the 
shouts of their officers, and swung into a slender 
battle-front, stretching out their thin line from the bank 
of the river to the sharp uplift of the western bluffs. 
Riderless horses crashed through them, neighing with 
pain ; the wounded begged for help ; while, with cries 
of terror, the cowardly Ankara scouts lashed their 
ponies in wild efforts to escape. Scarcely one hundred 
and fifty white troopers waited to stem as best they 
might that fierce onrush of twelve hundred battle- 
crazed braves. 

For an almost breathless space those mingled 
hordes of Sioux and Cheyennes hesitated to drive 
straight home their death-blow. They knew those 
silent men in the blue shirts, knew they died hard. 
Upon that slight pause pivoted the fate of the day ; 
upon it hung the lives of those other men riding 
boldly and trustfully across the sunlit ridges above. 
‘‘Audacity, always audacity,*' that is the accepted motto 
for a cavalryman. And be the cause what it may, it was 

[348] 


FIGHTING IN THE VALLEY 


here that Major Reno failed. In that supreme instant 
he was guilty of hesitancy, doubt, delay. He chose 
defence in preference to attack, dallied where he should 
have acted. Instead of hurling like a thunderbolt that 
handful of eager fighting men straight at the exposed 
heart of the foe, making dash and momentum, dis- 
cipline and daring, an offset to lack of numbers, he 
lingered in indecision, until the observing savages, 
gathering courage from his apparent weakness, burst 
forth in resistless torrent against the slender, unsup- 
ported line, turned his flank by one fierce charge, and 
hurled the struggling troopers back with a rush 
into the narrow strip of timber bordering the river. 

Driven thus to bay, the stream at their back 
rendering farther retreat impossible, for a few moments 
the light carbines of the soldiers met the Indian rifles, 
giving back lead for lead. But already every chance 
for successful attack had vanished ; the whole narrow 
valley seemed to swarm with braves ; they poured 
forth from sheltering coulees and shadowed ravines ; 
they dashed down in countless numbers from the 
distant village. Custer, now far away behind the 
bluffs, and almost beyond sound of the firing, was 
utterly ignored. Every savage chief knew exactly 
where that column was, but it could await its turn ; 
Gall, Crazy Horse, and Crow King mustered their 
red warriors for one determined effort to crush Reno, 
to grind him into dust beneath their ponies* hoofs. 
Ay, and they nearly did it ! 

In leaderless effort to break away from that swift- 
gathering cordon, before the red, remorseless folds 

[349] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 

should close tighter and crush them to death, the 
troopers, half of them already dismounted, burst from 
cover in an endeavor to attain the shelter of the bluffs. 
The deadly Indian rifles flamed in their faces, and 
they were hurled back, a mere fleeing mob, searching 
for nothing in that moment of terror but a possible 
passageway across the stream. Through some rare 
providence of God, they chanced to strike the banks 
at a spot where the river proved fordable. They 
plunged headlong in, officers and men commingled, 
the Indian bullets churning up the water on every 
side ; they struggled madly through, and spurred their 
horses up the steep ridge beyond. A few cool-headed 
veterans halted at the edge of the bank to defend the 
passage; but the majority, crazed by panic and forget- 
ful of all discipline, raced frantically for the summit. 
Dr. De Wolf stood at the very water’s edge firing 
until shot down ; McIntosh, striving vainly to rally his 
demoralized men, sank with a bullet in his brain ; 
Hodgson, his leg broken by a ball, clung to a ser- 
geant’s stirrup until a second shot stretched him dead 
upon the bank. The loss in that wild retreat (which 
Reno later called a charge ”) was heavy, the effect 
demoralizing; but those who escaped found a spot 
well suited for defence. Even as they swung down 
from off their wounded, panting horses, and flung 
themselves flat upon their faces to sweep with hastily 
levelled carbines the river banks below, Benteen came 
trotting gallantly down the valley to their aid, his 
troopers fresh and eager to be thrown forward on the 
firing-line. The worst was over, and like maddened 

[350] 


FIGHTING IN THE VALLEY 


lions, the rallied soldiers of the Seventh, cursing their 
folly, turned to strike and slay. 

The valley was obscured with clouds of dust 
and smoke, the day frightfully hot and suffocating. 
The various troop commanders, gaining control over 
their men, were prompt to act. A line of skirmishers 
was hastily thrown forward along the edge of the 
bluff, while volunteers, urged by the agonized cries of 
the wounded, endeavored vainly to procure a supply 
of water from the river. Again and again they made 
the effort, only to be driven back by the deadly Indian 
rifle fire. This came mostly from braves concealed 
behind rocks or protected by the timber along the 
stream, but large numbers of hostiles were plainly vis- 
ible, not only in the valley, but also upon the ridges. 
The firing upon their position continued incessantly, 
the warriors continually changing their point of attack. 
By three o’clock, although the majority of the savages 
had departed down the river, enough remained to 
keep up a galling fire, and hold Reno strictly on the 
defensive. These reds skulked in ravines, or lined the 
banks of the river, their long-range rifles rendering 
the lighter carbines of the cavalrymen almost value- 
less. A few crouched along the edge of higher 
eminences, their shots crashing in among the unpro- 
tected troops. 

As the men lay exposed to this continuous snip- 
ing fire, above the surrounding din were borne to their 
ears the reports of distant guns. It came distinctly 
from the northward, growing heavier and more con- 
tinuous. None among them doubted its ominous 

[351] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


meaning. Custer was already engaged in hot action 
at the right of the Indian village. Why were they 
kept lying there in idleness.^ Why were they not 
pushed forward to do their part? They looked into 
each othePs faces. God ! They were three hundred 
now; they could sweep aside like chaff that fringe 
of red skirmishers if only they got the word ! With 
hearts throbbing, every nerve tense, they waited, 
each trooper crouched for the spring. Officer after 
officer, unable to restrain his impatience, strode back 
across the bluff summit, amid whistling bullets, and 
personally begged the Major to speak the one word 
which should hurl them to the rescue. They cried 
like women, they swore through clinched teeth, they 
openly exhibited their contempt for such a com- 
mander, yet the discipline of army service made active 
disobedience impossible. They went reluctantly back, 
as helpless as children. 

It was four o’clock, the shadows of the western 
bluffs already darkening the river bank. Suddenly 
a faint cheer ran along the lines, and the men lifted 
themselves to gaze up the river. Urging the tired 
animals to a trot, the strong hand of a trooper grasp- 
ing every halter-strap, Brant was swinging his long 
pack-train up the smoke-wreathed valley. The out- 
riding flankers exchanged constant shots with the 
skulking savages hiding in every ravine and coulee. 
Pausing only to protect their wounded, fighting their 
way step by step, N Troop ran the gantlet and came 
charging into the cheering lines with every pound of 
their treasure safe. Weir of D, whose dismounted 

[352] 


FIGHTING IN THE VALLEY 


troopers held that portion of the line, strode a pace 
forward to greet the leader, and as the extended 
hands of the officers met, there echoed down to them 
from the north the reports of two heavy volleys, fired 
in rapid succession. The sounds were clear, distinctly 
audible even above the uproar of the valley. The 
heavy eyes of the two soldiers met, their dust-streaked 
faces flushed. 

“That was a signal, Custer’s signal for help!” 
the younger man cried, impulsively, his voice full of 
agony. “ For God’s sake, Weir, what are you 
fellows waiting here for ? ” 

The other uttered a groan, his hand flung in con- 
tempt back toward the bluff summit. “ The cowardly 
fool won’t move ; he ’s whipped to death now.” 

Brant’s jaw set like that of a fighting bulldog. 

“Reno, you mean? Whipped? You haven’t 
lost twenty men. Is this the Seventh — the Seventh? 
— skulking here under cover while Custer begs 
help? Doesn’t the man know? Doesn’t he under- 
stand? By heaven, I ’ll face him myself! I ’ll make 
him act, even if I have to damn him to his face.” 

He swung his horse with a jerk to the left, but 
even as the spurs touched, Weir grasped the taut rein 
firmly. 

“It’s no use, Brant. It’s been done; we’ve all 
been at him. He’s simply lost his head. Know? 
Of course he knows. Martini struck us just below 
here, as we were coming in, with a message from 
Custer. It would have stirred the blood of any one 
but him — Oh, God! it’s terrible.” 

[353] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“A message? What was it? ” 

‘‘Cook wrote it, and addressed it to Benteen. It 
read: ‘Come on. Big village. Be quick. Bring 
packs.* And then, ‘ P. S. — Bring packs.* That 
means they want ammunition badly ; they *re fight- 
ing to the death out yonder, and they need powder. 
Oh, the coward ! ** 

Brant’s eyes ran down the waiting line of his own 
men, sitting their saddles beside the halted pack- 
animals. He leaned over and dropped one hand 
heavily on Weir’s shoulder. “The rest of you can 
do as you please, but N Troop is going to take those 
ammunition packs over to Custer if there *s any pos- 
sible way to get through, orders or no orders.” He 
straightened up in the saddle, and his voice sounded 
down the wearied line like the blast of a trumpet. 

“Attention! N Troop! Right face; dress. 
Number four bring forward the ammunition packs. 
No, leave the others where they are; move lively, men !” 

He watched them swing like magic into formation, 
their dust-begrimed faces lighting up with animation. 
They knew their officer, and this meant business. 

“ U nsling carbines — load ! ” 

Weir, the veteran soldier, glanced down that 
steady line of ready troopers, and then back to Brant’s 
face. “Do you mean it? Are you going up those 
bluffs? Good Heavens, man, it will mean a court- 
martial.” 

“ Custer commands the Seventh. I command the 
pack-train,” said Brant. “ His orders are to bring up 
the packs. Perhaps I can’t get through alone, but 
[3 54] 


FIGHTING IN THE VALLEY 


I ’ll try. Better a court-martial than to fail those men 
out there. Going? Of course I ’m going. Into line 
— take intervals — forward!” 

‘‘ Attention, D Troop 1” It was Weir’s voice, eager 
and determined now. Like an undammed current his 
orders rang out above the uproar, and in a moment 
the gallant troopers of N and D, some on foot, some 
in saddle, were rushing up the face of the bluff, their 
officers leading, the precious ammunition packs at the 
centre, all alike scrambling for the summit, in spite of 
the crackling of Indian rifles from every side. Foot 
by foot they fought their way forward, sliding and 
stumbling, until the little blue wave burst out against 
the sky-line and sent an exultant cheer back to those 
below. Panting, breathless from the hard climb, their 
carbines spitting fire while the rapidly massing savages 
began circling their exposed position, the little band 
fought their way forward a hundred yards. Then they 
halted, blocked by the numbers barring their path, 
glancing back anxiously in hope that their effort would 
encourage others to join them. They could do it; 
they could do it if only the rest of the boys would 
come. They poured in their volleys and waited. 
But Reno made no move. Weir and Brant, deter- 
mined to hold every inch thus gained, threw the dis- 
mounted men on their faces behind every projection 
of earth, and encircled the ridge with flame. If they 
could not advance, they would not be driven back. 
They were high up now, where they could overlook the 
numerous ridges and valleys far around ; and yonder, 
perhaps two miles away, thev could perc.eive vast 

[355] ' 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


bodies of mounted Indians, while the distant sound 
of heavy firing was borne faintly to their ears. It 
was vengeful savages shooting into the bodies of the 
dead, but that they did not know. Messenger after 
messenger, taking life in hand, was sent skurrying 
down the bluff, to beg reinforcements to push on 
for the rescue, swearing it was possible. But it was 
after five o’clock before Reno moved. Then cau- 
tiously he advanced his column toward where N and 
D Troops yet held desperately to the exposed ridge. 
He came too late. That distant firing had ceased, 
and all need for further advance had ended. Already 
vast forces of Indians, flushed with victory and waving 
bloody scalps, were sweeping back across the ridges to 
attack in force. Scarcely had reinforcements attained 
the summit before the torrent of savagery burst 
screeching on their front. 

From point to point the grim struggle raged, till 
nightfall wrought partial cessation. The wearied 
troopers stretched out their lines so as to protect the 
packs and the field hospital, threw themselves on the 
ground, digging rifle-pits with knives and tin pans. 
Not until nine o’clock did the Indian fire slacken, and 
then the village became a scene of savage revel, the 
wild yelling plainly audible to the soldiers above. 
Through the black night Brant stepped carefully across 
the recumbent forms of his men, and made his way to 
the field hospital. In the glare of the single fire the 
red sear of a bullet showed clearly across his forehead, 
but he wiped away the slowly trickling blood, and 
bent over a form extended on a blanket. 

[ 356 ] 


FIGHTING IN THE VALLEY 


“ Has he roused up ? he questioned of the 
trooper on guard. 

‘^Not to know nuthin', sir. He’s bin swearing 
an’ gurglin’ most o’ ther time, but he ’s asleep now, I 
reckon.” 

The young officer stood silent, his face pale, his 
gaze upon the distant Indian fires. Out yonder were 
defeat, torture, death, and to-morrow meant a renewal 
of the struggle. His heart was heavy with forebod- 
ing, his memory far away with one to whom all this 
misfortune might come almost as a death-blow. It 
was Naida’s questioning face that haunted him ; she 
was waiting for she knew not what. 


[357] 


CHAPTER VIII 
The Old Regiment 

B y the time Hampton swung up the couVee^ he 
had dismis§ed from his attention everything 
but the business that had brought him there. 
No lingering thought of Naida, or of the miserable 
Murphy, was permitted to interfere with the serious 
work before him. To be once again with the old 
Seventh was itself inspiration ; to ride with them into 
battle was the chief desire of his heart. It was a dream 
of years, which he had never supposed possible of 
fulfilment, and he rode rapidly forward, his lips 
smiling, the sunshine of noonday lighting up his face. 

He experienced no fear, no premonition of coming 
disaster, yet the reawakened plainsman in him kept 
him sufficiently wary and cautious. The faint note of 
discontent apparent in Brant’s concluding words — 
doubtless merely an echo of that ambitious officer’s 
dislike at being put on guard over the pack-train at 
such a moment — awoke no response in his mind. He 
possessed a soldier’s proud confidence in his regiment 
— the supposition that the old fighting Seventh could 
be defeated was impossible; the Indians did not ride 
those uplands who could do the deed ! Then there 
came to him a nameless dread, that instinctive shrink- 
ing which a proud, sensitive man must ever feel at hav- 
ing to face his old companions with the shadow of a 

[358] 


THE OLD REGIMENT 


crime between. In his memory he saw once more 
a low-ceiled room, having a table extending down 
the centre, with grave-faced men, dressed in the full 
uniform of the service, looking at him amid a silence 
like unto death ; and at the head sat a man with long 
fair hair and mustache, his proud eyes never to be 
forgotten. Now, after silent years, he was going to 
look into those accusing eyes again. He pressed his 
hand against his forehead, his body trembled; then he 
braced himself for the interview, and the shuddering 
coward in him shrank back. 

He had become wearied of the endless vista of 
desert, rock, and plain. Yet now it strangely appealed 
to him in its beauty. About him were those uneven, 
rolling hills, like a vast storm-lashed sea, the brown 
crests devoid of life, yet with depressions between 
sufficient to conceal multitudes. Once he looked 
down through a wide cleft in the face of the bluff, and 
could perceive the head of the slowly advancing pack- 
train far below. Away to the left something was 
moving, a dim, shapeless dash of color. It might be 
Benteen, but of Reno’s columns he could perceive 
nothing, nor anything of Custer’s excepting that broad 
track across the prairies marked by his horses’ hoofs. 
This track Hampton followed, pressing his fresh 
mount to increased speed, confident that no Indian 
spies would be loitering so closely in the rear of that 
body of cavalry, and becoming fearful lest the attack 
should occur before he could arrive. 

He dipped over a sharp ridge and came suddenly 
upon the rear-guard. They were a little squad of 

[359] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


dusty, brown-faced troopers, who instantly wheeled 
into line at sound of approaching hoofs, the barrels of 
their lowered carbines glistening in the sun. With a 
swing of the hand, and a hoarse shout of “Despatches!” 
he was beyond them, bending low over his saddle 
pommel, his eyes on the dust cloud of the moving 
column. The extended line of horsemen, riding in 
column of fours, came to a sudden halt, and he raced 
swiftly on. A little squad of officers, several of their 
number dismounted, were out in front, standing 
grouped just below the summit of a slight elevation, 
apparently looking off into the valley through some 
cleft in the bluff beyond. Standing among these, 
Hampton perceived the long fair hair, and the erect 
figure clad in the well-known frontier costume, of the 
man he sought, — the proud, dashing leader of light 
cavalry, that beau ideal of the sahreur, the one he 
dreaded most, the one he loved best, — Custer. The 
commander stood, field-glasses in hand, pointing down 
into the valley, and the despatch bearer, reining in his 
horse, his lips white but resolute, trotted straight up 
the slope toward him. Custer wheeled, annoyed at 
the interruption, and Hampton swung down from the 
saddle, his rein flung across his arm, took a single step 
forward, lifting his hand in salute, and held forth the 
sealed packet. 

“Despatches, sir,” he said, simply, standing motion- 
less as a statue. 

The commander, barely glancing toward him, in- 
stantly tore open the long official envelope and ran his 
eyes over the despatch amid a hush in the conversation. 

[360] 


THE OLD REGIMENT 


Gentlemen/* he commented to the little group 
gathered about him, yet without glancing up from the 
paper in his hand, “ Crook was defeated over on the 
Rosebud the seventeenth, and forced to retire. That 
will account for the unexpected number of hostiles 
fronting us up here. Cook ; but the greater the task, 
the greater the glory. Ah, I thought as much. I am 
advised by the Department to keep in close touch with 
Terry and Gibbons, and to hold off from making a 
direct attack until infantry can arrive in support. 
Rather late in the day, I take it, when we are already 
within easy rifle-shot. I see nothing in these orders 
to interfere with our present plans, nor any military 
necessity for playing hide and seek all Summer in 
these hills. That looks like a big village down yon- 
der, but I have led the dandy Seventh into others 
just as large.** 

He stopped speaking, and glanced up inquiringly 
into the face of the silent messenger, apparently mistak- 
ing him. for one of his own men. 

‘‘ Where did you get this ? ** 

‘‘Cheyenne, sir.** 

“What! Do you mean to say you brought it 
through from there ? ** 

“ Silent Murphy carried it as far as the Powder 
River. He went crazy there, and I was compelled 
to strap him. I brought it the rest of the way.** 

“ Where is Murphy ? ** 

“ Back with the pack-train, sir. I got him through 
alive, but entirely gone in the head.** 

“ Run across many hostiles in that region ? ** 

[361] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“ They were thick this side the Rosebud ; all 
bucks, and travelling north.” 

“ Sioux ? ” 

Mostly, sir, but I saw one band wearing Cheyenne 
war-bonnets.” 

A puzzled look slowly crept into the strong face 
of the abrupt questioner, his stern, commanding eyes 
studying the man standing motionless before him, with 
freshly awakened interest. The gaze of the other 
faltered, then came back courageously. 

‘‘ I recognize you now,” Custer said, quietly. 
“Am I to understand you are again in the service?” 

“ My presence here is purely accidental, General 
Custer. The opportunity came to me to do this 
work, and I very gladly accepted the privilege.” 

The commander hesitated, scarcely knowing what 
he might be justified in saying to this man. 

“ It was a brave deed, well performed,” he said at 
last, with soldierly cordiality, “ although I can hardly 
offer you a fitting reward.” 

The other stood bareheaded, his face showing pale 
under its sunburn, his hand trembling violently where 
it rested against his horse’s mane. 

“ There is little I desire,” he replied, slowly, un- 
able to altogether disguise the quiver in his voice, 
“ and that is to be permitted to ride once more into 
action in the ranks of the Seventh. ”\ 

The true-hearted, impulsive, manly soldier front- 
ing him reddened to the roots of his fair hair, his 
proud eyes instantly softening. For a second Hamp- 
ton even imagined he would extend his hand, but 

[361] 


THE OLD REGIMENT 


the other paused with one step forward, discipline 
proving stronger than impulse. 

‘‘ Spoken like a true soldier,'’ he exclaimed, a new 
warmth in his voice. “You shall have your wish. 
Take position in Calhoun’s troop yonder.” 

Hampton turned quietly away, leading his horse, 
yet had scarcely advanced three yards before Custer 
halted him. 

“ I shall be pleased to talk with you again after 
the fight,” he said, briefly, as though half doubting 
the propriety of such words. 

The other bowed, his face instantly brightening. 
“ I thank you sincerely.” 

The perplexed commander stood motionless, 
gazing after the receding figure, his face grown grave 
and thoughtful. Then he turned to the wondering 
adjutant beside him. 

“You never knew him, did you. Cook?” 

“ I think not, sir ; who is he ? ” 

“ Captain Nolan — you have heard the story.” 

The younger officer wheeled about, staring, but 
the despatch bearer had already become indistinguish- 
able among the troopers. 

“Is that so?” he exclaimed, in evident surprise. 
“ He has a manly face.” 

“ Ay, and he was as fine a soldier as ever fought 
under the flag,” declared Custer, frankly. “ Poor 
devil ! The hardest service I was ever called upon 
to perform was the day we broke him. I wonder 
if Calhoun will recognize the face; they were good 
friends once.” 


[363] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


He stopped speaking, and for a time his field- 
glasses were fastened upon a small section of Indian 
village nestled in the green valley. Its full extent 
was concealed by the hills, yet from what the watchers 
saw they realized that this would prove no small 
encampment. 

I doubt if many warriors are there,” he com- 
mented, at last. ‘‘They may have gone up the river 
to intercept Reno’s advance, and if so, this should 
be our time to strike. But we are not far enough 
around, and this ground is too rough for cavalry. 
There looks to be considerable level land out yonder, 
and that couVee ought to lead us into it without peril 
of observation from below. Return to your com- 
mands, gentlemen, and with the order of march see 
personally that your men move quietly. We must 
strike quick and hard, driving the wedge home 
with a single blow.” 

His inquiring gaze swept thoughtfully over the 
expectant faces of his troop commanders. “ That will 
be all at present, gentlemen ; you will require no fur- 
ther instructions until we deploy. Captain Calhoun, 
just a word, please.” 

The officer thus directly addressed, a handsome, 
stalwart man of middle age, reined in his mettlesome 
horse and waited. 

“ Captain, the messenger who has just brought 
us despatches from Cheyenne is a civilian, but has 
requested permission to have a share in this coming 
fight. I have assigned him to your troop.” 

Calhoun bowed. 


[364] 


THE OLD REGIMENT 


I thought it best to spare you any possible em- 
barrassment by saying that the man is not entirely 
unknown to you.” 

May I ask his name ? ” 

“ Robert Nolan.” 

The strong, lion-like face flushed under its tan, 
then quickly lit up with a smile. ‘‘I thank you. 
Captain Nolan will not suffer at my hands.” 

He rode straight toward his troop, his eyes 
searching the ranks until they rested upon the 
averted face of Hampton. He pressed forward, and 
leaned from the saddle, extending a gauntleted hand. 

Nolan, old man, welcome back to the Seventh!” 
For an instant their eyes met, those of the officer 
filled with manly sympathy, the other’s moistened 
and dim, his face like marble. Then the two hands 
clasped and clung, in a grip more eloquent than 
words. The lips of the disgraced soldier quivered, 
and he uttered not a word. It was Calhoun who 
spoke. 

mean it all, Nolan. From that day to this I 
have believed in you, — have held you friend.” 

For a moment the man reeled; then, as though 
inspired by a new-born hope, he sat firmly erect, and 
lifted his hand in salute. ‘‘ Those are words I have 
longed to hear spoken for fifteen years. They are 
more to me than life. May God help me to be worthy 
of them. Oh, Calhoun, Calhoun I ” 

For a brief space the two remained still and silent, 
their faces reflecting repressed feeling. Then the voice 
of command sounded out in front; Calhoun gently 

[365] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


withdrew his hand from the other's grasp, and with 
bowed head rode slowly to the front of his troop. 

In column of fours, silent, with not a canteen rat- 
tling, with scabbards thrust under their stirrup leathers, 
each man sitting his saddle like a statue, ready carbine 
flung forward across the pommel, those sunburnt 
troopers moved steadily down the broad coulee. 
There was no pomp, no sparkle of gay uniforms. No 
military band rode forth to play their famous battle 
tune of ‘‘ Garry owen" ; no flags waved above to inspire 
them, yet never before or since to a field of strife and 
death rode nobler hearts or truer. Troop following 
troop, their faded, patched uniforms brown with dust, 
their campaign hats pulled low to shade them from 
the glare, those dauntless cavalrymen of the Seventh 
swept across the low intervening ridge toward the fate- 
ful plain below. The troopers riding at either side of 
Hampton, wondering still at their captain's peculiar 
words and action, glanced curiously at their new 
comrade, marvelling at his tightly pressed lips, his 
moistened eyes. Yet in all the glorious column, 
no heart lighter than his, or happier, pressed forward 
to meet a warrior's death. 


[366] 


CHAPTER IX 
The Last Stand 

H owever daring the pen, it cannot but falter 
when attempting to picture the events of those 
hours of victorious defeat. Out from the scene 
of carnage there crept forth no white survivor to 
recount the heroic deeds of the Seventh Cavalry. No 
voice can ever repeat the story in its fulness, no eye 
penetrate into the heart of its mystery. Only in 
motionless lines of dead, officers and men lying as they 
fell while facing the foe ; in emptied carbines strewing 
the prairie ; in scattered, mutilated bodies ; in that 
unbroken ring of dauntless souls whose lifeless forms 
lay clustered about the figure of their stricken chief 
on that slight eminence marking the final struggle — 
only in such tokens can we trace the broken outlines 
of the historic picture. The actors in the great, 
tragedy have passed beyond either the praise or the 
blame of earth. With moistened eyes and swelling 
hearts, we vainly strive to imagine the whole scene. 
This, at least, we know : no bolder, nobler deed of 
arms was ever done. 

It was shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon 
when that compact column of cavalrymen moved 
silently forward down the concealing coulee toward 
the more open ground beyond. Custer’s plan was 
surprise, the sudden smiting of that village in the 

[367] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


valley from the rear by the quick charge of his 
horsemen. From man to man the whispered pur- 
pose travelled down the ranks, the eager troopers 
greeting the welcome message with kindling eyes. 
It was the old way of the Seventh, and they knew it 
well. The very horses seemed to feel the electric 
shock. Worn with hard marches, bronzed by long 
weeks of exposure on alkali plains, they advanced 
now with the precision of men on parade, under the 
observant eyes of the officers. Not a canteen tinkled, 
not a sabre rattled within its scabbard, as at a swift, 
noiseless walk those tried warriors of the Seventh 
pressed forward to strike once more their old-time foes. 

Above them a few stray, fleecy clouds flecked the 
blue of the arching sky, serving only to reveal its 
depth of color. On every side extended the rough 
irregularity of a region neither mountain nor plain, 
a land of ridges and blufls, depressions and ravines. 
Over all rested the golden sunlight of late June; and 
in all the broad expanse there was no sign of human 
presence. 

With Custer riding at the head of the column, and 
only a little to the rear of the advance scouts, his 
adjutant Cook, together with a volunteer aide, beside 
him, the five depleted troops filed resolutely forward, 
dreaming not of possible defeat. Suddenly distant 
shots were heard far off to their left and rear, and 
deepening into a rumble, evidencing a warm engage- 
ment. The interested troopers lifted their heads, 
listening intently, while eager whispers ran from man 
to man along the closed files. 

[368] 


THE LAST STAND 


“ Reno is going in, boys ; it will be our turn next/* 
“ Close up ! Quiet there, lads, quiet,** officer 
after officer passed the word of command. 

Yet there were those among them who felt a 
strange dread — that firing sounded so far up the 
stream from where Reno should have been by that 
time. Still it might be that those overhanging bluffs 
would muffle and deflect the reports. Those fighting 
men of the Seventh rode steadily on, unquestioningly 
pressing forward at the word of their beloved leader. 
All about them hovered death in dreadful guise. 
None among them saw those cruel, spying eyes 
watching from distant ridges, peering at them from 
concealed ravines; none marked the rapidly massing 
hordes, hideous in war-paint, crowded into near-by 
coulees and behind protecting hills. 

It burst upon them with wild yells. The gloomy 
ridges blazed into their startled faces, the dark ravines 
hurled at them skurrying horsemen, while, wherever 
their eyes turned, they beheld savage forms leaping 
forth from hill and couVee^ gulch and rock shadow. 
Horses fell, or ran about neighing; men flung up 
their hands and died in that first awful minute of con- 
sternation, and the little column seemed to shrivel 
away as if consumed by the flame which struck it, 
front and flank and rear. It was as if those men had 
ridden into the mouth of hell. God only knows the 
horror of that first moment of shrinking suspense — 
the screams of agony from wounded men and horses, 
the cries of fear, the thunder of charging hoofs, the 
deafening roar of rifles. 

[369] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Yet it was for scarcely more than a minute. Men 
trained, strong, clear of brain, were in those stricken 
lines — men who had seen Indian battle before. The 
recoil came, swift as had been the surprise. Voice 
after voice rang out in old familiar orders, steadying 
instantly the startled nerves; discipline conquered 
disorder, and the shattered column rolled out, as if by 
magic, into the semblance of a battle line. On foot 
and on horseback, the troopers of the Seventh turned 
desperately at bay. 

It was magnificently done. Custer and his troop- 
commanders brought their sorely smitten men into a 
position of defence, even hurled them cheering for- 
ward in short, swift charges, so as to clear the front 
and gain room in which to deploy. Out of confusion 
emerged discipline, confidence, esprit de corps. The 
savages skurried away on their quirt-lashed ponies, be- 
yond range of those flaming carbines, while the cavalry- 
men, pausing from vain pursuit, gathered up their 
wounded, and re-formed their disordered ranks. 

“Wait till Reno rides into their village,” cried en- 
couraged voices through parched lips. “Then we’ll 
give them hell ! ” 

Safe beyond range of the troopers’ ligMt carbines, 
the Indians, with their heavier rifles, kept hurling a 
constant storm of lead, hugging the gullies, and spread- 
ing out until there was no rear toward which the 
harassed cavalrymen could turn for safety. One by 
one, continually under a heavy fire, the scattered 
troops were formed into something more nearly re- 
sembling a battle line — Calhoun on the left, then 

[370] 


THE LAST STAND 


Keogh, Smith, and Yates, with Tom Custer holding 
the extreme right. The position taken was far from 
being an ideal one, yet the best possible under the 
circumstances, and the exhausted men flung themselves 
down behind low ridges, seeking protection from the 
Sioux bullets, those assigned to the right enjoying the 
advantage of a somewhat higher elevation. Thus 
they waited grimly for the next assault. 

Nor was it long delayed. Scarcely had the troop- 
ers recovered, refilled their depleted cartridge belts 
from those of their dead comrades, when the onslaught 
came. Lashing their ponies into mad gallop, now sit- 
ting erect, the next moment lying hidden behind the 
plunging animals, constantly screaming their shrill 
war-cries, their guns brandished in air, they swept 
onward, seeking to crush that thin line in one terri- 
ble onset. But they reckoned wrong. The soldiers 
waited their coming. The short, brown-barrelled car- 
bines gleamed at the level in the sunlight, and then 
belched forth their message of flame into the very 
faces of those reckless horsemen. It was not in flesh 
and blood to bear such a blow. With screams of rage, 
the red braves swerved to left and right, leaving many 
a dark, war-bedecked figure lying dead behind them, 
and many a riderless pony skurrying over the prairie. 
Yet their wild ride had not been altogether in vain; 
like a whirlwind they had struck against Calhoun on 
the flank, forcing his troopers to yield sullen ground, 
thus contracting the little semicircle of defenders, 
pressing it back against that central hill. It was a 
step nearer the end, yet those who fought scarcely 

[37 0 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


realized its significance. Exultant over their seem- 
ingly successful repulse, the men flung themselves 
again upon the earth, their cheers ringing out above 
the thud of retreating hoofs. 

“ We can hold them here, boys, until Reno 
comes,” they shouted to each other. 

The skulking red riflemen crept ever closer behind 
the ridges, driving their deadly missiles into those 
ranks exposed in the open. Twice squads dashed 
forth to dislodge these bands, but were in turn driven 
back, the line of fire continually creeping nearer, 
clouds of smoke concealing the cautious marksmen 
lying prone in the grass. Custer walked up and 
down the irregular line, cool, apparently unmoved, 
speaking words of approval to officers and men. To 
the command of the bugle they discharged two roar- 
ing volleys from their carbines, hopeful that the com- 
bined sound might reach the ears of the lagging Reno. 
They were hopeful yet, although one troop had only 
a sergeant left in command, and the dead bodies of 
their comrades strewed the plain. 

Twice those fierce red horsemen tore down upon 
them, forcing the thin, struggling line back by sheer 
strength of overwhelming numbers, yet no madly 
galloping warrior succeeded in bursting through. 
The hot brown barrels belched forth their lightnings 
into those painted faces, and the swarms of savagery 
melted away. The living sheltered themselves be- 
hind the bodies of their dead, fighting now in 
desperation, their horses stampeded, their ammunition 
all gone excepting the few cartridges remaining in the 

[372] 


THE LAST STAND 


waist-belts. From lip to lip passed the one vital 
question: “In God's name, where is Reno? What 
has become of the rest of the boys ? ” 

It was four o'clock. For two long hours they had 
been engaged in ceaseless struggle ; and now barely a 
hundred men, smoke-begrimed, thirsty, bleeding, half 
their carbines empty, they still formed an impenetrable 
ring around their chief. The struggle was over, and 
they realized the fact. When that wave of savage 
horsemen swept forth again it would be to ride them 
down, to crush them under their horses' pounding 
hoofs. They turned their loyal eyes toward him they 
loved and followed for the last time, and when he 
uttered one final word of undaunted courage, they 
cheered him faintly, with parched and fevered lips. 

Like a whirlwind those red demons came, — howl- 
ing wolves now certain of their prey. From rock and 
hill, ridge, ravine, and coulee^ lashing their half-crazed 
ponies, yelling their fierce war-cries, swinging aloft their 
rifles, they poured resistlessly forth, sweeping down on 
that doomed remnant. On both flanks of the short 
slender line struck Gall and Crazy Horse, while like 
a thunderbolt Crow-King and Rain-in-the-Face at- 
tacked the centre. These three storms converged at 
the foot of the little hill, crushing the little band of 
troopers. With ammunition gone, the helpless vic- 
tims could meet that mighty on-rushing torrent only 
with clubbed guns, for one instant of desperate 
struggle. Shoulder to shoulder, in ever-contracting 
circle, officers and men stood shielding their com- 
mander to the last. Foot by foot, they were forced 

[373] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


back, treading on their wounded, stumbling over 
their dead ; they were choked in the stifling smoke, 
scorched by the flaming guns, clutched at by red 
hands, beaten down by horses* hoofs. Twenty or 
thirty made a despairing dash, in a vain endeavor to 
burst through the red enveloping lines, only to be 
tomahawked or shot ; but the most remained, a thin 
struggling ring, with Custer in its centre. Then came 
the inevitable end. The red waves surged completely 
across the crest, no white man left alive upon the 
field. They had fought a good fight; they had kept 
the faith. 

Two days later, having relieved Reno from his 
unpleasant predicament in the valley, Terry*s and 
Gibbons*s infantry tramped up the ravine, and emerged 
upon the stricken field. In lines of motionless dead 
they read the fearful story ; and there they found 
that man we know. Lying upon a bed of emptied 
cartridge-shells, his body riddled with shot and muti- 
lated with knives, his clothing torn to rags, his hands 
grasping a smashed and twisted carbine, his lips 
smiling even in death, was that soldier whom the 
Seventh had disowned and cast out, but who had come 
back to defend its chief and to die for its honor, — 
Robert Hampton Nolan. 


[374] 


CHAPTER X 
The Curtain Falls 

B ronzed by months of scouting on those 
northern plains, a graver, older look upon his 
face, and the bars of a captain gracing the 
shoulders of his new cavalry jacket, Donald Brant 
trotted down the stage road bordering the Bear 
Water, his heart alternating between hope and dread. 
He was coming back as he had promised ; yet, ardently 
as he longed to look into the eyes of his beloved, he 
shrank from the duty laid upon him by the dead. 

The familiar yellow house at the cross-roads 
appeared so unattractive as to suggest the thought 
that Naida must have been inexpressibly lonely during 
those months of waiting. He knocked at the sun- 
warped door. Without delay it was flung open, and 
a vision of flushed face and snowy drapery confronted 
him. 

“ Why, Lieutenant Brant ! I was never more 
surprised in my life. Do, pray, come right in. Yes, 
Naida is here, and I will have her sent for at once. 
Oh, Howard, this is Lieutenant Brant, just back from 
his awful Indian fighting. How very nice that he 
should happen to arrive just at this time, is n*t it?'' 

The young officer, as yet unable to discover an 
opportunity for speech, silently accepted Mr. Wyn- 
koop's extended hand, and found a convenient chair, 

[375] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


as Miss Spencer hastened from the room to announce 
his arrival. 

‘‘Why ‘just at this time'?” he questioned. 

Mr. Wynkoop cleared his throat. “Why — why, 
you see, we are to be married this evening — Miss 
Spencer and myself. We — we shall be so delighted 
to have you witness the ceremony. It is to take place 
at the church, and my people insist upon making 
quite an affair out of the occasion — Phoebe is so 
popular, you know.” 

The lady again bustled in, her eyes glowing with 
enthusiasm. “Why, I think it is perfectly delightful. 
Don’t you, Howard? Now Lieutenant Brant and 
Naida can stand up with us. You will, won’t you. 
Lieutenant ? ” 

“That must be left entirely with Miss Naida for 
decision,” he replied, soberly. “ However, with my 
memory of your popularity I should suppose you 
would have no lack of men seeking such honor. For 
instance, one of your old-time friends, Mr. William 
McNeil.” 

The lady laughed noisily, regardless of Mr. 
Wynkoop’s look of annoyance. “Oh, it is so per- 
fectly ridiculous ! And did n’t you know ? have n’t 
you heard?” 

“ Nothing, I assure you.” 

“Why he — he actually married the Widow Guffy. 
She ’s twice his age, and has a grown-up son. And to 
think that I supposed he was so nice! He did write 
beautiful verses. Is n’t it a perfect shame for such 
a man to throw himself away like that? ” 

[376] 


THE CURTAIN FALLS 


“ It would seem so. But there was another whose 
name I recall — Jack MofFat. Why not have him?'* 

Miss Spencer glanced uneasily at her chosen com- 
panion, her cheeks reddening. But that gentleman 
remained provokingly silent, and she was compelled 
to reply. 

“We — we never mention him any more. He 
was a very bad man." 

“Indeed?" 

“ Yes ; it seems he had a wife and four children he 
had run away from, back in Iowa. Perhaps that was 
why his eyes always looked so sad. She actually 
advertised for him in one of the Omaha papers. It 
was a terrible shock to all of us. I was so grateful to 
Howard that he succeeded in opening my eyes in 
time." 

Mr. Wynkoop placed his hand gently upon her 
shoulder. “ Never mind, dearie," he said, cheerfully. 
“ The West was all so strange to you, and it seemed 
very wonderful at first. But that is all safely over 
with now, and, as my wife, you will forget the un- 
pleasant memories." 

And Miss Spencer, totally oblivious to Brant's 
presence, turned impulsively and kissed him. 

There was a rustle at the inner door, and Naida 
stood there. Their eyes met, and the color mounted 
swiftly to the girl's cheeks. Then he stepped reso- 
lutely forward, forgetful of all other presence, and 
clasped her hand in both his own. Neither spoke 
a word, yet each understood something of what was 
in the heart of the other. 

[ 377 ] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


“Will you walk outside with me?” he asked, at last. 
“ I have much to say which I am sure you would 
rather hear alone.” 

She bent her head, and with a brief word of 
explanation to the others, the young officer conducted 
her forth into the bright July sunshine. They walked 
in silence side by side along the bank of the little 
stream. Brant glanced furtively toward the sweet, 
girlish face. There was a pallor on her countenance, 
a shadow in her eyes, yet she walked with the same 
easy grace, her head firmly poised above her white 
throat. The very sadness marking her features 
seemed to him an added beauty. 

He realized where they were going now, where 
memory had brought them without conscious volition. 
As he led her across the rivulet she glanced up into 
his face with a smile, as though a happy recollection 
had burst upon her. Yet not a word was spoken 
until the barrier of underbrush had been completely 
penetrated, and they stood face to face under the 
trees. Then Brant spoke. 

“ Naida,” he said, gravely, “ I have come back, as 
I said I would, and surely I read welcome in your eyes ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And I have come to say that there is no longer 
any shadow of the dead between us.” 

She looked up quickly, her hands clasped, her 
cheeks flushing. “ Are you sure ? Perhaps you 
misunderstand; perhaps you mistake my meaning.” 

“ I know it all,” he answered, soberly, “ from the 
lips of Hampton.” 


[378] 


THE CURTAIN FALLS 


‘‘You have seen him? Oh, Lieutenant Brant, 
please tell me the whole truth. I have missed him 
so much, and since the day he rode away, to Cheyenne 
not one word to explain his absence has come back 
to me. You cannot understand what this means, 
how much he has become to me through years of 
kindness.” 

“You have heard nothing?” 

“ Not a word.” 

Brant drew a long, deep breath. He had sup- 
posed she knew this. At last he said gravely : 
“ Naida, the truth will prove the kindest message, I 
think. He died in that unbroken ring of defenders 
clustered about General Custer on the bluffs of the 
Little Big Horn.” 

Her slight figure trembled so violently that he 
held her close within his arms. 

“There was a smile upon his face when we fonnd 
him. He performed his full duty, Naida, and died 
as became a soldier and a gentleman.” 

“ But — but, this cannot be ! I saw the published 
list; his name was not among them.” 

“The man who fell was Robert Nolan.” 

Gently he drew her down to a seat upon the soft 
turf of the bank. She looked up at him helplessly, 
her mind seemingly dazed, her eyes yet filled with 
doubt. 

“ Robert Nolan ? My father?” 

He bent over toward her, pressing his lips to her 
hair and stroking it tenderly with his hand. 

“Yes, Naida, darling; it was truly Robert 

[379] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


Hampton Nolan who died in battle, in the ranks of 
his old regiment, — died as he would have chosen 
to die, and died, thank God ! completely cleared of 
every stain upon his honor. Sit up, little girl, and 
listen while I tell you. There is in the story no 
word which does not reflect nobility upon the soldier’s 
daughter.” 

She uplifted her white face. “Tell me,” she said, 
simply, “ all you know.” 

He recounted to her slowly, carefully, the details 
of that desperate journey northward, of their 
providential meeting on the Little Big Horn, 
of the papers left in his charge, of Hampton’s 
riding forward with despatches, and of his death 
at Custer’s side. While he spoke, the girl scarcely 
moved ; her breath came in sobs and her hands 
clasped his. 

“These are the papers, Naida. I opened the 
envelope as directed, and found deeds to certain 
properties, including the mine in the Black Range ; a 
will, duly signed and attested, naming you as his sole 
heir, together with a carefully prepared letter, ad- 
dressed to you, giving a full account of the crime of 
which he was convicted, as well as some other matters 
of a personal nature. That letter you must read 
alone as his last message, but the truth of all he says 
has since been proved.” 

She glanced up at him quickly. “ By Murphy ? ” 

“Yes, by Murphy, who is now lying in the 
hospital at Bethune, slowly recovering. His sworn 
deposition has been forwarded to the Department at 

[380] 


THE CURTAIN FALLS 


Washington, and will undoubtedly result in the honor- 
able replacing of your father’s name on the Army 
List. I will tell you briefly the man’s confession, 
together with the few additional facts necessary to 
make it clear. 

“Your father and mine were for many years 
friends and army comrades. They saw service togeth- 
er during the great war, and afterward upon the plains 
in Indian campaigning. Unfortunately a slight mis- 
understanding arose between them. This, while not 
serious in itself, was made bitter by the interference of 
others, and the unaccountable jealousies of garrison 
life. One night they openly quarrelled when heated 
by wine, and exchanged blows. The following even- 
ing, your father chancing to be officer of the guard 
and on duty, my father, whose wife had then been 
dead a year, was thoughtless enough to accompany 
Mrs. Nolan home at a late hour from the post ball. 
It was merely an act of ordinary courtesy ; but gossips 
magnified the tale, and bore it to Nolan. Still smart- 
ing from the former quarrel, in which I fear my father 
was in the wrong, he left the guard-house with the 
openly avowed intention of seeking immediate satis- 
faction. In the meanwhile Slavin, Murphy, and a 
trooper named Flynn, who had been to town without 
passes, and were half-drunk, stole through the guard 
lines, and decided to make a midnight raid on the 
colonel’s private office. Dodging along behind the 
powder-house, they ran suddenly upon my father, 
then on the way to his own quarters. Whether they 
were recognized by him, or whether drink made them 

[381] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


reckless of consequences, is unknown, but one of the 
men instantly fired. Then they ran, and succeeded in 
gaining the barracks unsuspected.” 

She sat as if fascinated by his recital. 

“ Your father heard the shot, and sprang toward 
the sound, only to fall headlong across my father’s 
lifeless body. As he came down heavily, his 
revolver was jarred out of its holster and dropped 
unnoticed in the grass. An instant later the guard 
came running up, and by morning Captain Nolan was 
under arrest, charged with murder. The circumstan- 
tial evidence was strong — his quarrel with the mur- 
dered man, his heated language a few moments 
previous, the revolver lying beside the body, having 
two chambers discharged, and his being found there 
alone with the man he had gone forth to seek. Slavin 
and Flynn both strengthened the case by positive 
testimony. As a result, a court martial dismissed the 
prisoner in disgrace from the army, and a civil court 
sentenced him to ten years’ imprisonment.” 

“And my mother? ” The question was a trem- 
bling whisper from quivering lips. 

“Your mother,” he said, regretfully, “was an 
exceedingly proud woman, belonging to a family of 
social prominence in the East. She felt deeply the 
causeless gossip connecting her name with the case, as 
well as the open disgrace of her husband’s conviction. 
She refused to receive her former friends, and even 
failed in loyalty to your father in his time of trial. It 
is impossible now to fix the fault clearly, or to account 
for her actions. Captain Nolan turned over all his 

[382] 


THE CURTAIN FALLS 

property to her, and the moment she could do so, she 
disappeared from the fort, taking you with her. 
From that hour none of her old acquaintances could 
learn anything regarding her whereabouts. She did 
not return to her family in the East, nor correspond 
with any one in the army. Probably, utterly 
broken-hearted, she sought seclusion in some city. 
How Gillis obtained possession of you remains a 
mystery.” 

‘‘ Is that all ? ” 

“ Everything.” 

They kept silence for a long while, the slow 
tears dropping from her eyes, her hands clasped in her 
lap. His heart, heavy with sympathy, would not 
permit him to break in upon her deep sorrow with 
words of comfort. 

“ Naida,” he whispered, at last, ‘‘this may not be 
the time for me to speak such words, but you are all 
alone now. Will you go back to Bethune with me — 
back to the old regiment as my wife ? ” 

A moment she bowed her head before him ; then 
lifted it and held out her hands. “ I will.” 

“ Say to me again what you once said.” 

“ Donald, I love you.” 

Gently he drew her down to him, and their lips met. 

The red sun was sinking behind the fringe of 
trees, and the shadowed nook in which they sat was 
darkening fast. He had been watching her in 
silence, unable to escape feeling a little hurt because 
of her grave face, and those tears yet clinging to her 
lashes. 


[383] 


BOB HAMPTON OF PLACER 


‘‘ I wish you to be very happy, Naida dear,’' he 
whispered, drawing her head tenderly down until it 
found rest upon his shoulder. 

“Yes, I feel you do, and I am; but it cannot 
come all at once, Donald, for I have lost so much — 
so much. I — 1 hope he knows.” 

THE END 


[384] 


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